


Endless Night

by ararelitus



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Depression, Domestic, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Period Typical Home of Phobia? I don't know her, Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Supernatural Elements, The Odyssey References, Trauma Recovery, background fitzconte, ghosts in dreams, less than canon typical horror elements, mild to moderate jealousy that gets resolved, neptune lives AU, past francis crozier/sophia cracroft - Freeform, referenced/past alcoholism, the ross children make a small but important apperance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ararelitus/pseuds/ararelitus
Summary: In a fever dream during the winter of 1847, Francis is visited by the ghost of Sir John Franklin. When he wakes, Francis makes a decision that changes the fates of all his men.A series of events in the post-arctic life of Francis Crozier.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier & Commander James Fitzjames, Captain Francis Crozier & Lady Anne Ross, Captain Francis Crozier/Sir James Clark Ross, Lady Ann Ross/Sir James Clark Ross
Comments: 53
Kudos: 19
Collections: The Terror Big Bang 2020





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of The Terror Big Bang Challenge, and has been illustrated by the amazing [Aliendisco_](https://twitter.com/Aliendisco_)! The Art can be found in the body of the work and will also be linked here again once it is posted! 
> 
> Massive thanks to my lovely betas for this fic: [crafterofwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrafterOfWords) and [tulliolaciceronis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tulliolaciceronis)! This fic would not have been possible without the two of them. 
> 
> Thank you Jen for listening to me ramble endlessly about my various ideas at the start of this and still believing in me even if this fic wasn’t your particular cup of tea! 
> 
> And Kat, my emotional support beta, thank you for the constant support and edits and everything, I really mean it when I say I would have crashed and burned without you ❤️
> 
> I have an explanation for one of the major symbolic items in this work, which is an Odyssey reference, at the end of the work. Warning however, that it’s a massive spoiler. I personally feel that it is self explanatory in the fic itself if you don’t know the original reference, but there is a brief explanation the source material in the very endnotes of the work

> Every Night & every Morn
> 
> Some to Misery are Born 
> 
> Every Morn and every Night
> 
> Some are Born to sweet delight 
> 
> Some are Born to sweet delight 
> 
> Some are Born to Endless Night 
> 
> \- William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

Please look at this amazing art for this from [@Aliendisco_](https://twitter.com/Aliendisco_) on twitter

**January 1848**

Francis stepped down onto the ice and made his way to Erebus. He knew he shouldn’t be out, alone, with the creature hunting them one by one. A small voice in his head screamed, reminding him of it. Another part of him didn’t care anymore. 

The aurora shone in the endless dark sky, but Francis saw no beauty in it anymore. He’d been caught breathless when he first saw it, twenty-five years earlier. It no longer held the same effect. Francis looked away and focused on his walk instead. 

The ice whistled and cracked beneath his feet. Francis froze. The sounds the ice made were haunting, but this was different. He watched as cracks began to form in the ground, like a spider’s web stretching out around the ship ahead. 

Francis could only watch in horror as the splintering continued, ridges in the ice growing wider and wider. 

It stopped with a horrifying silence. The ship fell, taking Francis with it, plunging him into cold water like a thousand needles digging into his skin. Everything around turned to dark. 

Francis felt solid ground under his feet. He felt dry, and neither cold or warm. Rather, a distinct lack of sensation. He opened his eyes. He stood at a port, empty and dark. No moon, no stars, nothing to guide his way. 

Ahead, shone a single lantern on a river boat. Fog crept up out of the water and covered the ground. 

“Come.”

Francis looked closer. There was a hooded figure sitting in the boat. 

“Sit.”

Francis walked over, and his footsteps made no sound. He gripped a post and climbed into the boat. 

“Where am I?”

“You’re going to Erebus, Francis,” the figure said. The hood dropped. 

Sir John Franklin sat across from him. His skin had an unnatural grey hue and all his usual cheer was long gone. In the lantern light, Francis could see he only had one leg under his cloak. 

“This is the Darkness. The place where all ghosts go. It’s where I am to stay, too. There’s some cruel irony, isn’t there?”

“Am I dead too?” Francis asked. 

“You are not. Not yet. I will show you the way, but I must have something in return.”

Francis knew this story; he needed gold coins. “But I don’t have anything...” In his pocket, Francis could feel his sledge compass. The one from the Antarctic expedition, given to him by James.

“That will do.” Franklin reached out his hand. 

Francis set it down. His fingers brushed Franklin’s palm; he felt a chill run down his spine at the sudden icy feel of it.

The boat began to move, although there were no oars. 

“What is this place?” Francis asked.

“It’s meaning varies depending on what you read and believe. To you, I imagine it doesn’t mean much. To me, it’s Hell. Or, one form of it.”

“How am I here?”

“You are a ghost too, aren’t you Francis? A living one.”

“What?”

“You walk the land of the living like you are not a part of it. Ghosts always walk the same paths endlessly, trapped in the past. I make no judgments of you now, but you have always looked for the wrong things in the wrong places.”

Francis ignored the suggestion. “Why am I here?” he asked.

“I am meant to show you.”

Up ahead Francis could see streams of light coming down from an unknown source. The light illuminated a large ship emerging from the water. At the helm stood another figure looking up into the light. 

“We have had our differences, Francis, but it is up to you now. You must find the way,” Franklin said.

“The way?” Francis asked. 

“Look closer.”

The boat drifted closer. In the light, Francis could make out the familiar pristine uniform and long curled hair that belonged to James Clark Ross. 

“North, Francis. He is coming for you,” Franklin said. 

Francis turned back to Franklin, but found his expression unreadable. “I- What?”

“He’ll be waiting for you, Francis.”

The light and the ship disappeared. The fog began to rise from the water blocking Francis’ sight. 

“What is happening?”

“North, Francis!” Franklin yelled from somewhere more distant. 

Francis plunged into the frozen water again. 

_“Captain! Captain!”_

Hands were on his shoulders, pulling him up, shaking him. 

Francis jolted awake and opened his eyes. 

The familiar heavy beams of Terror’s cabin stared down at him. He could feel himself shaking, his teeth chattering. His heart still raced, but he was only soaked from his own sweat now. 

“Captain, you were talking again,” Jopson said, “in your sleep.” He cleared his throat. 

“Some fever dream, I imagine,” the other man in the room said. That deep, posh accent sounded like a nail through Francis’ skull. Of all people, that man was hardly who Francis wanted to wake up to. 

“What do you want?” Francis muttered. He reached up to comb a hand through his hair. It was humiliating, having Erebus' new captain see him like this. 

“Captain Crozier, I’m afraid I have a rather pressing matter to discuss with you. I had hoped to wait until your condition improved.” Fitzjames paused and looked to Jopson who stood watching over Francis like a hawk. “Well, I’m afraid with first sunrise rapidly approaching-”

Francis groaned. “Very well.”

“I’ve been considering our circumstances and the state of Terror here, as I’m sure you know, and I think it is time we consider our retreat.”

“Ah, walking out,” Francis managed.

“Yes. Can you stand?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Very well. I’ve brought over some charts.” He motioned to the rolled up papers he held under his arm. “I’ve spoken with your ice master, Thomas Blanky-”

“You spoke with Blanky?” Francis stared back at Fitzjames in amusement. 

“I’m afraid is was necessary-”

“No no, good man. Continue.”

Fitzjames smiled at that. “Well, he told me some rather revealing information about Sir John Ross’ voyage in ‘29.”

“Fury Beach… he sure has stories.” Where James Ross had brushed off Francis’ inquiry about the expedition, Thomas Blanky just had a new story for Francis. What James and Thomas held in common, though, was their hatred for John Ross. 

“I know you too are acquainted with Sir James Ross, it was just as much his journey, as I heard.”

Francis struggled to sit up. Jopson lunged to help him but Francis waved him off. “As you heard.”

“Yes, I’ve read what I could of his accounts in preparation for this expedition, so I am aware of the disputes-”

“Speak plainly, James. You’ve seen me? Decorum and formality went overboard, and are stuck some fathoms below this ice.”

“Very well, Francis. I have considered two possible courses of action. One would be as you proposed to Sir John, to follow the rescue party, and continue those 800 miles to Fort Resolution on Great Slave Lake.”

“And the other?” Francis asked, even though he already knew.

“The other is to head for North Somerset.”

“I see.”

“I thought I should ask your opinion before I plot an overland expedition for Fort Resolution. Heading north might not be the obvious logical conclusion, but there are stores on Somerset left by Parry and Ross. If nothing else, we could send men to get those supplies.”

“Heading south would be logical, away from the ice, inland. And with that thing tracking us...” Francis trailed off.

“Indeed. So, are we in agreement?”

“Hold on.”

“Yes?”

_He will be waiting for you Francis._

James Clark Ross. North. Somerset. Those would be the logical choices for a rescue, wouldn’t they? Even retired, James would be involved. 

“No,” Francis said. “We all go North.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for Chapter 1:  
> \- Here is an image of an [Arctic sledge compass ](https://ltwilliammowett.tumblr.com/post/617997839356837888/an-arctic-sledge-compass-with-two-spare-cards)  
> \- I also have a [ Theme playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/28KvSOeIO2zJrLaGgxz336?si=myCE5kngScqtp-wxG85Ivw) for this story!


	2. II

**October 1848**

As Enterprise sailed through Barrow Strait, Francis didn’t look at the sea or the ice. He was sick of sea and ice. He stared at James Clark Ross. 

James stood on deck beside Francis, leaning on the gunwale, smoking a pipe. He was wrapped up in his coat, his arms crossed, trying to mask the fact that he was cold. His eyes were sunken and his hair longer, greying, clearly combed haphazardly before he put on his hat. He looked tired, more tired than after the Antarctic. Still, the years had been kinder to him. Francis had forgotten how handsome he was. 

It still felt like a dream. Perhaps if Francis closed his eyes for long enough, he’d find it was. James would disappear again. So would the open sea. Francis would be alone in the dark again, staring into the great white nothing.

“How does it feel to be going home, Frank?” James asked.

“Careful James, we could still hit more ice,” Francis teased, then cursed himself. He couldn’t let a good thing lie, he had to ruin it.

“You’ll have to leave the sailing to me, then,” James said, handing the pipe to Francis.

“That, I can do.”

Francis looked out at the sea, and at the icebergs greeting them on either side. The ice, growing thinner and thinner, revealed the blue of the water below. A strange feeling it was, to be at sea again. That familiar rocking of the ship and waves breaking against the hull, gulls calling up above. He’d be thankful to be done with this place for good.

“Home.” That thing Francis had longed for but didn’t know anymore. Terror had been more of a home to Francis than anything else for the past decade, and now she was likely no more. “What exactly am I going home to?”

“Well, you’ll be staying with Anne and me in Aylesbury, of course,” James said. “And then from there, wherever you wish.” 

“It’s decided, then?” Francis joked.

“Of course. I won’t hear a word otherwise.”

Francis sighed and laughed.

“Rather not have you wander too far out of my sight now,” James said. He smiled, a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood, but Francis knew him too well for that. There was a coldness in his tone, that kind of worry was almost uncharacteristic for James. 

Francis let out a puff of smoke. “This feels like a dream,” he said. 

“You think you’re dreaming still?”

“Aye.”

“Is there anything I can do to dissuade this thought?”

“I’m afraid not, James.”

“I see.”

They stared out at the sea together, in silence.

Silence was an awful thing on a ship so full of men. Francis had come to learn this fact. 

“I’m just starting to struggle with what’s real, James.”

James turned to him, his face tense. There was that look, the one Francis always tried so hard to avoid. “We’ll get through it, Frank, always have.”

Francis was not sure about it this time. The years had changed him. For the past few months, he had one goal: get his men home. He never thought much of himself in the context of that goal. Now that they were going home, Francis felt lost again.

Francis never had words for the bond he and James shared. It was love that Francis felt, for years now. There were moments when Francis thought it was love. Moments, and forbidden drunken kisses in the dark under the southern stars. But in those moments, he still remembered that James was Anne’s. 

Now they were both sober, it was not meant to be. Could Francis live with that? Where would he go, if not some desolate tundra?

Barking on the other side of the deck drew Francis out of his thoughts.

“Neptune, stop!” Edward Little cried as the dog came running towards Francis.

“It’s alright, Edward,” Francis said. He reached down to comb his hand through Neptune’s thick coat. 

“I’m sorry, captains, he still won’t listen to me,” Edward said.

“He won’t be your responsibility soon. Not long now till he’ll finally be back on land. Isn’t that right, James.”

“Indeed,” James said. He leaned down to pet Neptune. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, haven’t you boy?”

Little handed the lead back to Francis, and with a nod, disappeared to the other side of the ship.

“He does come with me, you know,” Francis said to James. 

“I figured. I think the children will be quite pleased.”

“Well, I should probably get him back down belowdecks, before he tangles the coils,”

“Of course.”

Francis made his way toward the ladder and Neptune followed. They stepped into the warm light of the lamps belowdecks. Francis yawned as he settled into his berth. It was early, but he needed rest. 

Francis once again found himself on the decks of Terror. The ship was practically empty, hardly a whisper belowdecks. He pulled himself from the bed, throwing the wool blanket aside. He struggled to step across the slippery boards, angling further and further as the ice pushed Terror out - the ocean spitting out something that didn’t belong. 

The hull seemed endless, stretching on and on as Francis passed more quarters than there ought to be on such a ship. Distant cries and shouts continued somewhere in the distance, but Francis wasn’t alarmed. 

He climbed up and out to where the decks of Terror met the endless darkness of the Arctic night and the ever-expanding ice. Up ahead, some ways away, fires burned and a brown tarp labyrinth stood. 

Francis knew what this was.

He climbed down and walked across the path that had been made, lanterns lighting his way. The sounds only grew stranger up close. Francis wondered if this too was some distant iteration of its intention, like everything in this place. A carnival, but at an extreme. Nothing like the kind he knew. 

Men in costumes and dresses danced, images spinning. They didn’t take notice of Francis as he walked past them.

All of this reminded Francis of a different party. One where they weren’t all preparing for a long deadly walk. That party wasn’t as wild as this, no. Something more organized, elegant. A true ball like the old days with Parry. 

His mind was clear then, and his focus was James. James Clark Ross in an emerald green gown, dancing with Francis. If he closed his eyes and let go, he could practically picture himself there. It had been over five years since he had seen that sight, but that image still lingered in his mind. 

He could not let himself do that. He was in command here. This was his responsibility, no matter the piss poor job he was doing now. 

The sounds around him stopped. Francis blinked. 

Francis found himself standing on a box. He didn’t remember climbing up there. The crowd of blank faces looked up to him.

Silence was an awful thing; Francis knew well by now. People expected him to fill it. 

“These ships are not our homes,” he said. “We must leave them now, and march on.”

 _Where will we go?_ Said a voice with no body.

“Out west, to the end of the earth, to Elysium,” Francis said, words escaping his mouth. He had no control. “To that which is owed to us.” 

_No._ Francis thought. _No, that’s not what I said_. Now his mouth refused to move.

_Three cheers for Captain Crozier, for he will deliver us._

The crowd erupted into cheers.

_No. No. No._

Behind them, a burning man appeared. A man on fire, and yet, his eyes were clear and staring back at Francis. 

_No! Look out!_ Francis couldn't speak, he couldn’t move. The cheers of the crowd turned to screams of terror as they too caught fire. 

He was frozen in space, a tin soldier in resin. An exposed king on a chessboard. The flames reached him, game over, they were all gone. 

Still he heard those cries. He couldn’t see faces, but he felt the heat, he felt the screams. Finally, Francis opened his mouth and screamed. 

_“Frank! Frank!”_

A dog barked in the distance. Francis screamed and joined the cries of his men, and the warmth engulfed him too. 

“Frank! Francis!”

He opened his eyes. James stood above him, gripping his arms tight. 

James’ hair was a mess, draping down and masking his face. Francis was almost thankful he couldn’t see his expression.

Francis threw off the wool blanket, and lunged to wrap his arms around James, digging his fingers into his shoulders. 

“You’re alright now, Frank,” James said. His hand fell gently on Francis’ back. 

The heat of James against him felt like another fire burning all around him. Still, he didn’t want to let go, he didn’t mind being burned now.

Still, his senses started to return as he realized he was sobbing into the collar of James’ shirt. He was crossing some hidden boundary now, and he was afraid of what lay on the other side.

As he let go, James just looked back at him, focused, waiting. The sorrow in his eyes was almost too much to bear. Francis looked away, looking instead at the flame of the lamp in the corner. 

“The drops Dr. Roberston gave you do any good?” James asked, his voice a whisper. 

“No, I'm afraid not,” Francis replied.

“Well, we’re almost there. Just weeks now.”

“Almost where?” Francis asked. “You think this will improve?”

“Yes. It will. You’ll be away from a ship, somewhere safe. Warm.”

Warm. Francis felt he’d had enough warmth for the time being. “Don’t think it will matter.”

“Well, I’ll still be there. As will Anne. In fact, once you’re in the country, you can go out and scream into the night all you like.” 

“That does seem appealing.” Francis sank back down into the bed.

“Precisely, focus on that then.” 

James reached over and squeezed Francis’ hand, giving him a gentle smile.

James, always more optimistic than Francis. Perhaps, he was simply better at making the world do what he wanted it to. Francis never had that ability, and even James could not save him now.

“Do you remember how we were after the storm down south? I couldn’t hold a teacup.”

“Yes, James, we drank, that’s what we did. We will not do that now.”

“Of course.”

“And this wasn’t some storm, James. A storm was nothing in comparison.”

“I’m realizing that, yes.”

“What hour is it?” Francis asked. 

“It’s just past six bells.”

“How long have you been awake?”

James sighed and hesitated, which was the answer Francis had feared. 

The ship rocked, swinging the lamps, and shifting the shadows across the cabin.

“Go to sleep, James. Lest you forget you are in command here.”

“Believe me, I have not forgotten that.” James settled at the edge of the bed, looking down at his hands. “I can stay for now. Again.”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he shifted in the bed, crawling in beside Francis, their shoulders touching. 

“Make yourself at home.” Francis sighed. “Nearly thirty years now, James, and we still haven’t learned that the two of us are two big for one of the Royal Navy’s beds.”

They were so close now. 

“We’ve had worse,” James said. “Remember that freezing observatory? Could barely write the observations down.”

Francis remembered. “I suppose we have.”

Close. Close was worse than nothing, James had always told him. Only getting close to furthest south but not beating it was the worst thing in the world, at the time. It didn’t hold true here. Being on the other side of the world was worse. Resigning himself to never seeing James again was worse. 

Having James close by, a friend, warm and safe, was more than he could have asked for. 

James fell asleep next to him. Francis listened to his steady breaths. He shifted on the bed until he was at the very edge, giving James some space. 

Francis couldn’t sleep.

He sat up from the bed, lifting the blanket so it covered the sleeping James instead. He stood and extinguished the lamp and tip-toed out, past Neptune’s sleeping form and out on deck. 

A clear sky greeted him, the moon in full shining up above. The man on watch greeted him with a nod. Up ahead, a familiar figure stood on deck. 

“Figured I’d see you here, sooner or later,” Thomas Blanky said, turning back in response to Francis’ footsteps. 

“Are you supposed to be up and walking around on your own yet?” Francis asked

“Eh, probably not. I’ve got this crutch though. They’ll get me a new leg back home.”

“You’ll let me know if you need anything, then?”

“Of course. Got to say Richardson here is nothing compared to our Goodsir.”

“Who could be? Unfortunately, he’s on Investigator. Getting a well-deserved rest, I hope.”

“Aye. Do you remember the last time we talked like this?”

“Yes, you had a pipe.”

“Yes. A shame really. I’ll miss that pipe. Sure hope some polar bear is enjoying it now. Don’t suppose you can steal our captain’s pipe for me next time?”

Francis laughed. “Think you only need ask him for it.”

Thomas grunted.

Francis looked back out at the sea, this time in darkness. With no moon, there was no telling where the sea ended, and where the darkness began. Still, the stars blanketed them on all sides, the only thing separating this scene from the ones in Francis’ dreams. 

“Smooth sailing now,” Thomas said. 

“One would hope. Everyone keeps saying that… how we’re almost home. As if things will be any different there.”

“Still having the dreams?”

“Yes. You?”

Thomas nodded. “I’ve seen it enough, with the men who’ve seen battle. Never quite figured what it would be like.”

“I imagine most of the men are afflicted too.”

“Aye. It’ll be a long road back home again, even after we arrive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for Chapter 2:  
> \- James Clark Ross on HMS Enterprise did reach North Somerset in September 1848. That is where he got frozen in for the winter. Here, as you can see, he did not end up getting frozen in, they just arrived there at literally the same time and turned the fuck around. My explanation for this is: in the Terror, JCR ends up [wherever?] Francis is in September of 1850. I have no idea how he got there??? I spent the first two and a half months trying to figure out a plausible explanation for how he ended up there??? Nothing makes sense, therefore nothing has to? And then I just went: “FUCK IT! GHOSTS!”  
> \- In case you’re confused, Carnival did still happen in this timeline before the walk out.


	3. III

**November 1848**

Anne Coulman Ross stood on the docks waiting for them, surrounded by what looked like every journalist in London. 

As James descended the gangplank, she ran up to gather him in an embrace, eyes full of tears. She looked tired too, much like James. Francis felt he should look away. This was their moment, not his. 

The crowd surrounded them. Francis always had more ease disappearing in a crowd than James, and a far greater desire to do so. He popped up his collar, pulled down his cap and pulled Neptune’s lead as he slipped past them ahead. He waited on the sidelines, people cheering as they saw the other men appear. 

“If it wasn’t for the dog, I’d never have tracked you down again,” James said. He held Anne’s hand tight as they weaved out of the crowd.

“Frank,” Anne said. Her smile was as warm as ever. Her hand fell on Francis’ shoulder. “It’s been a long time. It’s good to have you home.”

James put his hand on Francis’ other shoulder and smiled. The joy and relief of solid ground, or Anne and James, finally hit him then. This was real. He could relax and give in. This was all too tempting now, and Francis chose to believe it. 

The Rosses’ home on Eliot Place wasn’t how Francis remembered it. Bare now, all ornamentation stripped away, no more paintings on the walls, it was not a lived-in place. 

Francis watched Anne and James struggling to help each other out of their coats, bursting into laughter as their buttons tangled.

James and Anne were inseparable, still holding hands, unable to let go to even slip out of their sleeves. Francis didn’t mind, he understood it well. He could only imagine what it was like to be married to James and then have him gone for almost a year.

“We’ll have a bit of a late dinner here,” Anne said, “I imagine you’ll be looking forward to eating actual real food again, Frank, after all that time.”

“Yes, very much.” Francis had not even thought of that. 

Francis settled down on the settee and let Neptune go. The dog proceeded to run around the place sniffing everything. 

Francis felt tired and heavy, more tired than he had been in a while. Solid ground felt strange and finally, it was all weighing on him.

“Will you join us for tea?” Anne asked.

“No, no. Thank you… Go ahead. I'm going to rest here for a while.”

“Of course. You can rest now, Frank.”

Francis lay his head down on the silk. It felt so soft, after all those years at sea and on the ice. With worn linens and wool blankets. He pulled the cushion and tucked it under his head, letting his hand play with the decorative fringe. He closed his eyes. He would rest, only for a moment. 

Francis opened his eyes. In the faint candlelight he recognized Franklin's house. 

Fog filled the rooms and doorways. Francis waded through it as he walked down the familiar wallpapered halls, now stripped of their colours. 

This wasn’t the Franklin house; this was  _ that place _ again. 

He could hear voices in the parlour, Sophia and Jane talking. Francis peered inside and found it to be empty. The disembodied voices continued, ghosts in Francis’ minds even though he knew their owners were alive and well. Francis looked out the window. Everything outside was pitch black, exactly as he expected it. 

Francis wandered into the dining room as he had so many times before. There, that same dark hooded figure sat at the head of the table.

“Sir John,” Francis said. 

“Your journey isn’t finished, Francis,” he replied. 

“No, it isn’t.” Francis knew this already. The formality of a court martial would be purely symbolic in clearing him of the guilt he felt. There would be more. There would always be more. 

“You must speak with Jane, Francis. And Sophia. For me, for I no longer can.”

“Of course.”

“Peace will continue to elude you, Francis, until you leave the sea behind.”

Francis scoffed. “How can there be peace at the end of this?”

Sir John Franklin just stared back at him. 

Francis looked away and turned back to the window. 

“You'd better go now, they’re coming for you,” Franklin said.

“Who?”

No reply. Francis turned around and came face to face with the frozen remains of Lieutenant James Fairholme. 

Francis stared at the bloodied cut along the Lieutenants neck. He reached out and put his frozen hand on Francis’ shoulder. The cold spread across Francis’ skin until he himself was frozen too. 

“Frank!” 

Francis opened his eyes. Anne was standing above him. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

Francis sat up. It was night now; candles lit the room. Anne had her long hair in a braid and a dressing gown thrown over her nightshirt. 

Neptune sat beside Francis, his head heavy on his thigh. Someone had thrown a blanket over him and removed his boots.

“Fine. Bad dream, that’s all,” Francis said.

“Wouldn’t call that fine,” James said. He paced the floor on the other side of the settee. 

“Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed both of you.”

“No, Frank, hardly. We’re just concerned, that’s all,” Anne tried to reassure him.

“Please, don’t worry on my account.”

“Frank, what _ happened _ , what- ” James stood there rubbing his temple. The knuckles of his other hand were white as he gripped the back of a chair. He let out a breath. “It’s late, and you can’t be comfortable here. Why don’t you come to the guest room instead? Same one as before you left, alright?”

“Alright.” Francis sat up.

“I’ve got this, go on back to bed,” James whispered to Anne.

She slipped away back up the stairs.

“Right, let’s get you to bed too.” James offered his hand for Francis to take.

Francis took his weathered hands and let James lift him to his feet. James clasped his hand tight and didn’t let go until they made it to the staircase. He was ashamed that he needed to be led this way, and yet he didn’t mind the warmth of James’ hand.

“You still remember the way around?”

“Yes.”

Francis passed Anne and James’ bedroom where a flame burned bright. He went into the one across the hall, the dark one, only lit by the moonlight flooding in through the windows.

“Let me get you a lamp,” James said, turning in the doorway.

“No need,” Francis replied.

“Oh?”

“I’m not afraid of the dark, James.”

“No, of course.”

“Good night, James dear.”

“Sleep well Frank. If you need anything-”

“I won’t,” Francis said. He shut the door behind James, blocking out the last of the light from the hall.

Waking up was strange off a ship. Alone. Quiet. No orders to give, no decisions to make. Francis could take all the time he needed to dress and make himself presentable enough to rejoin his hosts. 

He found Anne waiting for him in the dining room.

“Good morning, Frank,” she greeted him. 

“Morning.”

“I think you’re looking rather well today.”

“I must admit it has been better here.” It wasn’t a lie. Francis would rather be here then alone in some rented flat in London. He pulled back a chair and sat across from her. The chair at the head of the table, although empty, held a salient presence. 

“James tells me you haven’t been sleeping,” Anne said. Her cheery expression fell as she studied Francis closely. “Even back on the ships.”

“Afraid not,” Francis said. He looked away. He never wanted to worry James and Anne with any of this. That was why he left in the first place. Somehow, they convinced him to come back every time. 

“You know he’s been worried sick about you,” she said.

“I do- and I’m sorry.”

“Ever since that last letter… It hasn’t been the same without you.”

Francis looked away, staring down at his hands. What could he possibly have to say? 

“He loves you, Frank. Don’t shut him out,” Anne continued.

“I know,” Francis said. 

“I hope you do. I hope you know just how much- Well, all I’m saying is, talk to him, Francis.”

“I will.”

Anne took a sip from her cup. She set it down gently, careful not to make any noise when it met the saucer. She turned and looked back up to Francis. “Years ago, I was so intimidated by you… you know that?” Anne asked.

“Me?” Francis scoffed. Anne had been a young woman when they met, but he was the nervous one. Terrified when James told him of the girl he’d met while conducting his survey. Even more terrified when James wrote that Francis was to meet her. 

“The early days, when we first met, James would always speak of you. This amazing friend of his. So excited every time he got a letter from you. Cruelly separated by circumstances, he’d say. When I was to meet you, I was practically shaking. Surely whatever opinion you held of me would weigh most on James.”

“I think you underestimated James’ determination to do what he very well pleases.”

“Perhaps. Yet, I envied you. You got to spend so much time with him. You were there in the Antarctic with him. And once you came to stay, I finally felt like I was a part of the family.”

“I didn’t realize.” Here, he’d envied Anne. 

“I had always hoped we could be better friends, Francis. We never got a very good chance before you left. I’m no sailor, but I think we may have more in common than you realize, besides our James.”

“I’d like that.”

“The estate in the country is your home now too, if you want it.”

Francis did want it. He wanted it more than anything, but James and Anne were always more optimistic than he was. 

“Frank, you’re up!” James said as he walked in. 

He looked like a different man in his dressing gown and finally out of his uniform. This was hardly a new sight for Francis. In fact, it was the same navy blue brocade Francis saw him in four years earlier.

As James sat at the head of the table Francis was overwhelmed by a familiar memory. This was just as before the expedition, back to normal, back to routine. The world turned, and Francis remained still. An observer watching a scene play out, as Anne reached for James’ hand over the table.

“I was thinking we might take a stroll down to Greenwich park later on,” James said. “It’s a bit chilly but I doubt that’ll scare us. Am I right, Frank?”

Francis felt a bit like a watch with a broken gear. Trying to get back to some resemblance of a routine was not so easy for him.

“Frank?” James asked again.

“Yes, right, of course,” he replied.

“Well, gentlemen, I’m afraid it is a bit cold for me, so I will be here,” Anne said.

“Oh darling, perhaps we can stay and keep you company here, then?” James said.

“No, please, you two go ahead.”

“No, you two should do something together,” Francis said. “I can go walk around on my own, try to see how this place has changed-”

“No, Frank, you and James go. I insist,” Anne said. She smiled softly but her stare was firm. 

A knock fell on the door. 

Anne turned to look through the door. “Now, who could that be?”

“Why the-” James stood and made his way to the door.

Anne shifted closer to Francis. “Don’t feel like you’re intruding, Frank.”

“Thank you.”

“Duty calls then, I’m afraid,” James said. He walked back into the room, behind him was James Fitzjames.

Fitzjames looked like he’d practically run all the way to Eliot Place. “Lady Anne, Sir James, again, I am very sorry to intrude this early in the day but there’s a matter I’m going to have to discuss with Francis.”

“What is it?” Francis asked him. 

“Why don’t you two use my study,” James said.

“Thank you, Sir James.”

Francis stood from the table and went over to Fitzjames. “Follow me.”

They entered James’ study and closed the door.

“I imagine I know what this is about,” Francis said with a sigh.

“We need to get our stories straight,” Fitzjames said. He stood beside James’ bookshelf and began tracing the spines. 

“Right.”

“Have you told them, anyway?”

Francis shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter… It’s the matter of Sir John’s death I’m more worried about. I’m sure you know better than most what Lady Jane Franklin is like.”

“I do indeed.”

“She will want to know. We won’t know peace until she has the answer she’s looking for.”

Peace, in his dream Franklin talked of peace. This was just as much about her peace as theirs. 

“It’ll be the same as the letter. Animal attack. The service, just as it happened,” Francis said. 

“Right.”

“She’ll speak to you too, you know,” Francis said.

Fitzjames leaned against the desk. “I know.”

“I think that ought to be enough, I hope.”

“Yes. And about the mutineers?”

Francis rubbed his temple. “There’s no denying it.”

“Then we stick as closely to the truth as we can. Men mutinied, left us, decided to go south instead. There was nothing we could do.”

“Right, of course. Think you’ve got it all sorted then. Now we can only hope no one tries to say anything in the papers.”

“Suppose so.”

The papers were a frightening thought. Francis’ career was over, though; it didn’t matter much now.

“How are you holding up, with the return? First night back on English soil and all,” Francis asked.

“Terribly, to be quite honest.”

“I am very sorry to hear that.”

“If I may be candid?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”

“No.”

Fitzjames smiled. “Well, I imagine it’ll get better from here. Don’t be a stranger, Francis.”

“Of course.”

They exited James’ study.

“Everything alright?” James asked.

“Yes, all is well, Sir James,” Fitzjames said. 

“Commander Fitzjames, would you care to stay for tea with us then?” Anne asked. 

“I’m afraid I should get back; I have another stop.”

“Very well.”

James led him out the door.

He returned to where Francis was leaning against the wall.

“I think I underestimated how close you two got, Frank,” James said, lifting an eyebrow subtly.

“We did, he’s been a good friend.” Francis tried to ignore whatever James was insinuating. He hated the thought. “He was worried about Lady Jane, that’s all.”

“Ah. Aren’t we all?”

“Yes. I half expected her to be storming your doors any minute.”

“As do I,” James said. “On the other matter, if you and Fitzjames have become close, you should invite him up to have Christmas with us. I worry you’ll get bored of us quickly in the country.”

“Never, James dear.”

“Still, friends are good. Unless there’s any reason why it would be a bad idea?”

“No. Although, I hear he likes to steal puddings.”

“Think we’ll hardly mind if he makes it off with the plum pudding.”

“Very well, I’ll write to him when I arrive.”

Francis found himself standing below the deck of a ship, in pitch dark, with only a light in his hand to illuminate his way.

He began wandering, trying to find something - not even sure what he was looking for. 

“Captain Crozier.”

Francis turned. Behind him stood a boy, pale with circles around his eyes. Francis knew him, he was the one that died before this all began. 

“David,” Francis said. “Your name was David.”

“David Young, Sir.”

“Why are you here?”

“Died on Erebus, Sir. I stay in Erebus.”

The ship creaked around them and didn't move. 

“I told you to run. He wanted us to run. No one listened.”

Francis sighed. “You’re right, we did not.”

“They’re coming, Captain.”

“Who?”

“The dead, Sir.”

Slowly the darkness behind Young began to fill with more pale faces. One man, much taller, stepped forward. Blood dripped from his shoulder, but Francis still recognized his face, Graham Gore of Erebus.

Francis felt something brush past his shoulder. “Run,” whispered Sir John. 

He turned and ran, dropping the lamp. It shattered on the ground, and everything around him erupted into flames. The heat and smoke of it began to rise. Still it did nothing to illuminate the darkness ahead. 

This was another dream, and Francis knew it. He would not scream. Not again. He would not make this anyone’s problem but his own. 

Francis woke in a cold sweat with sunlight in his face. It streamed in through the open curtains. He sat up and tried to catch his breath. 

Francis shaved and dressed, taking his time. 

As he crept down the steps, he could hear James and Anne talking in the dining room. 

“We both know what this is about, dear,” Anne said. 

James sighed. “This again.”

“Yes, this again. You went out and found him, now what?”

“He needs rest, and time, first.”

“Right, but how much time?” Anne asked

Francis froze in the hall right outside. He pressed himself against the wall and listened. 

“He wakes up screaming almost every night, I think that’s something for me to worry about  _ now _ .”

“At least he’s still sleeping now,” Anne tried to reassure James. 

“I just-” James raised his voice. “I don’t know how to help through this and I can’t stand it.”

“I know. I’m worried too.”

They grew silent. 

Francis didn’t want them staring at him, worried. He couldn’t stand that again. 

He turned and quietly walked back, towards his door and his coat. He grabbed it, and as gingerly as he could manage, opened the door and slipped out into the London air. 

As Francis stepped out into the street, he picked up his pace. He walked past the groups of people chatting and kept on walking until he reached the Thames. 

He stood watching all the boats heading in and out. It was strange to think how many times he’d sailed down this very river. All the times he’d walked a whole hour from Woolwich Dockyard to James’ house before. 

Francis found himself wondering, what if he didn’t go back? He could keep walking and not return. There was nothing more for him here anyway. James was back with Anne, his men were home safe. Fitzjames could surely manage everything, he could write an account of the journey too. 

Again, he was hardly a member of it all, only symbolic. Redundant. He could disappear. It would be too easy. 

“Frank!”

Francis looked over. James stood on the other side of the street waving at him. Francis raised his hand and waved back. 

James ran over to him. “When we went to wake you, you weren't there. I figured this was where you ran off to.”

“You know me too well, James dear. Can’t even make an escape.”

“No, certainly not.”

“I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Just warn me next time you go for an impromptu walk, alright?”

“Very well.”

“So, home? Or do you want to stop by the park on the way?”

“Home, I think, James. Might as well get something to eat.”

“Very well, let’s go,” James said. 

Not far off, a couple stared at them.

“Excuse me sirs, I hope you don’t mind us disturbing,” the man said, approaching james. “My wife and I were just reading the paper and wondering… you wouldn’t happen to be the Sir James Clark Ross, would you?”

“I am. How may I be of service?” James asked. 

The couple looked at each other and smiled. “It’s an honour to meet you, sir, truly,” the woman said.

“Not everyday you meet a hero. Truly amazing what you did, bringing that lost expedition home,” the man said. 

“Thank you, I am honoured, but I am afraid that was hardly my doing. That honour falls to my oldest friend, Captain Francis Crozier. He brought them home, I only helped.” James stepped aside and motioned to Francis. 

The couple looked at him. He could see the enthusiasm fading from their eyes when they turned from James. 

“An honour as well, sir,” the man said, reaching to take Francis’ hand.

“Thank you,” Francis replied. 

“Well, we’re sorry to disturb you sir, have a good day,” the man added. 

The couple turned and continued on their path.

“I’m so sorry for that, Frank,” James said. 

“No need. It’s fine,” Francis lied. Francis should be used to it by now, one of the many side effects of standing next to  _ the handsomest man in the Navy _ . There were some days his shadow wasn’t quite large enough for Francis to hide in. 

Francis remained quiet for the remainder of the walk home. James sensed that, and didn’t try to engage. At least there was always that, some understanding between them that never needed to be spoken aloud. 

When they returned to the house at Eliot Place, Anne opened the door and let them inside. She smiled when she saw Francis. On a better day, he’d make a better effort of smiling back. 

“Ah you found him!”

“Ah, but was he ever lost?” James said, “I knew exactly where to find him, dearest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for Chapter 3:  
> \- I spent too much time on Google Maps wistfully staring at Ross’ house at 2 Eliot place and his blue plaque. [This post](https://catilinas.tumblr.com/post/615482154692050944/happy-birthday-to-him) has a nice image of the plaque.  
> \- I tried to look at info on Greenwich park and the area at the time and I didn’t find anything useful so I’m handwaving the details. Massive thanks to blasted-heath for sending me images though!!  
> \- [[link to info about Francis’ one hour walk from Woolwich to JCR’s house] ](https://handfuloftime.tumblr.com/post/622201905466277888/tttack-and-i-have-been-within-an-hours-walk-to)  
> \- Also, there’s some controversy over the spelling of Ann vs. Anne. In JCR’s letters he spells it Anne so that’s why I’ve chosen to go with that spelling.


	4. IV

**Early December 1848**

“They’re here,” James said, walking briskly past Francis in the drawing room.

Before Francis had a moment to ask, they entered, both in black. Neither Lady Jane nor Sophia looked like they did when Francis left London.

Francis’ heart raced. He had never been one to run away from a fight in his life. But this was no fight, not really, and he wanted to run. Back up the stairs, back into bed. There, Franklin’s ghost would surely find him, though. 

“Lady Jane, Miss Cracroft,” James greeted them. 

“Sir James,” Lady Jane said. The sudden formality in her tone towards James was shocking, after seeing them spend all that time together in Van Diemen's land, gossiping and sharing her homemade jam. Francis was never privy to it. 

Now, she cast him a gaze that could freeze an ocean. 

“I’ve read the reports, all the official ones anyway, but I know those aren’t always true.”

Francis gulped. 

“I’d like to know how my husband died,” she said, staring right into Francis’ eyes. 

“Very well, Lady Jane.”

James looked at him, concerned, as he mostly was these days. Francis nodded at him, reassuringly. 

“Shall we sit in the drawing room, then?” James said. 

“That would be best,” Sophia said, guiding her aunt. 

Lady Jane and Sophia sank down on the settee together across from Francis. James stood behind Francis, leaning on the back of his chair. He could almost feel the tension through the fabric. 

“Are you sure you want to hear this?” Francis asked Sophia. 

“I do, yes. They said it was an animal attack?”

“Yes. The men, marines, were hunting a polar bear that had attacked another officer. Sir John had gone to join them,” Francis began. “It seems the bear attacked Sir- your husband, and by the time the men got there, it was too late.”

Lady Jane's mouth formed a tight line, and Francis could see it quivering at the corner. Still, she was handling this better than Francis did. 

“Captain Fitzjames was the first on the scene. As soon as the call went out, he was the first to run to your husband’s aid. Unfortunately, there was not much he or any other man could do.”

“I see. I do intend to speak with Captain Fitzjames as well, after,” Lady Jane said. 

“Did you see it happen?” Sophia asked. “Are you sure...”

Francis shook his head. “By the time I got there, it was all over.” 

“I see. Was it quick? Was his suffering-” she couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“Yes, it was quick,” Francis lied. 

Lady Jane held the same face. She was strong, and too good at this. She could maintain composure better than any man Francis knew in the Navy. 

“Again, I am incredibly sorry for your loss,” James said.

“As am I,” Lady Jane said. “Well, thank you gentlemen, for your candor.”

“Of course,” Francis said.

“That will be all,” Lady Jane said.

“If there’s anything else you need, Lady Jane, please let me know. Here, let me show you out.”

They stood, the ruffling of fabric the only sound in the room. 

Francis stood and bowed his head. 

“Thank you, James,” Lady Jane said as she swept by Francis and towards James who then led them toward the door. 

Francis remained there watching James try to exchange more meaningless pleasantries with them, even though it was perfectly clear nothing was ever going to make them feel all right again. 

James returned to the sitting room. “I’ve seen the way she stood up to the Admiralty… she’ll get through this.”

“Of course,” Francis said. 

James walked over and put his hand on Francis’ shoulder. “Frank, I-” He paused.

“Yes?”

James sighed and turned his head. “I just want you to know how much you were missed here, Frank. That is all.”

Francis looked up at him. How could he even express how much he’d missed James, ever since the minute he left London? In writing he could scribble it all down, out loud was a different story. “Thank you, James,” he managed. 

“If you want to tell me about what happened out there. Whatever happened… all that matters is that you are home now.”

Home, again. Perhaps this was a concept Francis didn’t quite understand anymore.

“Please know you can always speak to me. Whatever it is, I will listen.” 

**A Week Later**

It was dark when they all arrived at Aston Abbotts. Anne had fallen asleep on James’ shoulder in the carriage. Neptune sat quietly at Francis’ feet. 

It was a long ride into the estates, trees and lanterns framing the road. A large light hung above the arched door where the coach stopped. 

After the court martial and after he was sure his men were accommodated, Francis had been cast back out into the world. Anne and James wasted no time before deciding to take him to Aylesbury. For the first time in years, he wasn’t responsible for men or a ship. Now, he didn’t know what to do with his mind. 

Francis stepped out into the fresh snow, Neptune excitedly leaping out after him. The estate stretched out all around him, occupying more space than Francis could have ever imagined needing. 

James held the large door open to let Anne and then Francis in as the footman unloaded their luggage.

Francis opened the next door which led into a large reception hall with a grand staircase. A large chandelier hung above, lighting the large space. Ahead, hung a new portrait of James, one Francis didn’t recognize. Doorways spread in all directions, Francis couldn’t even wager a guess as to what functions any of these rooms served. 

“Christ, James, did you really need a house this big?”

“At least you won’t complain about how stifling it is,” James replied. 

“No, definitely not…” Francis trailed off as he looked down the halls and the countless doorways. 

“Well, make yourself at home,” Anne said. 

This was like no home Francis had ever had, and certainly not what he had expected at the end of his retirement. Some cottage somewhere, by the sea, far away from society or even a house like James' old place in Blackheath, if Francis had married Sophia. 

Now wasn’t the time to think of all that, or how he would try to find a place for himself in this maze of an estate. 

“I think I’d like to go right to bed tonight,” Francis said.

“So early, Frank?” James asked.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m afraid the ride up here has left me exhausted.”

“Alright, well let me show you to your room,” Anne said.

“Thank you.”

He followed Anne up the stairs and down another long hallway. 

“I’ve had a room prepared for you, ever since I got James’ letter,” she said. “It is in the east corner, so you’ll have light in the morning, but at least there will be peace and quiet.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh it’s nothing, there’s plenty of room here. We’re just the next door over, if you need anything.”

She opened the door to a room. The walls were covered in some beige floral wallpaper, and on them had been hung sketches of various plants and animals from his and James’ voyage south.

“Get your rest now, Frank, we will make some introductions in the morning,” Anne said.

“Thank you, again.”

She turned and gently closed the door behind her. 

Francis threw off his jacket and sat down in bed. 

Downstairs, he heard cheering and children yelling, no doubt happy to see their father after such a long absence.

James’ laugh carried through the place. So much for peace and quiet.

He sat and waited, studying the drawings and the wallpaper. He lay down on the bed and began studying the mouldings. The size of the room, and the bed that was surely intended for two and perhaps a dog, only felt hollow around Francis. Not a ship, just some strange box. 

The house grew silent again and Francis grew restless. He set his feet down on the ground and listened again. Silent still. 

Francis left the room and slowly shut the door behind him. He wandered back down the hall, trying to get familiar with the place. The door to what he assumed to be the master bedroom remained closed; he would not dare to open it. 

He wandered down the stairs. 

As Francis passed by what he assumed was the library, he could hear Anne’s voice from within, reading a story to the children.

He peered inside. A little boy and a little girl with the same dark hair, sat on either side of her, leaned against her shoulders. 

“Well, I think it’s time for bed, isn’t it?” Anne said. “We should go see what your father has gotten up to and go say goodnight.”

The children yawned in unison and Anne laughed.

“Well, I have my answer then.”

She lifted the girl off the chaise and stood.

Francis ducked behind the door frame as he heard their footsteps approaching. He disappeared down the hall so he wouldn’t be seen.

“Can we say goodnight to Uncle Frank too? He’s here now, isn’t he?” Francis overheard the little boy ask.

“Uncle Frank is very tired, and he’s still recovering from his long journey, best we don’t disturb him. You’ll meet him tomorrow.”

When they passed, Francis snuck into the foyer. A single lamp burned, leaving much of the house in darkness. Still, it was enough to light up the painting of James.

It was a great likeness. He stood holding a telescope this time, not his usual sword. It seemed every time Francis was away from him, James got another painting done. There was something in that Francis would never quite understand.

Though with how handsome he was, it was fair. Every great explorer had their likeness painted sooner or later, and few looked like that. Here, Francis could stare for hours without worrying about what the real James might think. But there was the catch, too – this was not his James. He preferred the less idealized version, the James with stray locks of hair coming to breakfast in a dressing gown, or the James with his head propped up on his arm as he wrote late into the evenings. No furs or epaulettes. 

Francis turned away. This wasn’t his place. None of this was his place.

He returned to the staircase and climbed back up. He stopped at the halfway point, where it split off into the other wing. Curious, he continued into the new space. 

Francis looked to one of the open doors. A small face was staring back at him.

“Who are you?” the little boy asked. Up close, the resemblance to James was impossible to miss.

“I’m Francis,” he replied. “And you must be James, we haven’t met properly yet.”

“Perhaps,” the boy said. 

“Perhaps?”

“You’re papa’s friend who was lost in the arctic, aren’t you?”

“That would be me, yes.”

“James! It’s past your bedtime,” A woman said from inside the room. “Don’t disturb the guests!”

“That’s Nanny. I have to go,” the boy said.

“Nice meeting you, James.”

The little boy turned and disappeared back into the room. The door closed behind him. 

Francis turned back to the east wing and passed down the long hall he was now familiar with. Light glowed from under the door to the master bedroom. Inside, Francis could hear Anne and James’ muffled voices. 

Francis returned to his own room. He closed the door and collapsed onto the bed with a sigh.

At least he had plenty of privacy now, nothing like the ships. He could spend his days in this room if he wanted to. Well out of the way, appearing only for meals. He would be a mouse living in the walls. Perhaps the children would even leave him cheese.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Still awake. Come in,” Francis said.

“Frank? How are you doing up here?” James opened the door to look in. Neptune brushed past him and lay down on the floor beside Francis’ bed.

“Quite well, I think,” Francis replied. 

“Good.” James leaned against the doorway. He motioned to Neptune. “He follows you around like a shadow, sometimes I wonder if he is one. Found him sitting patiently outside the door.”

“He’s a good dog. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“I’m glad you have him. Well, I just wanted to get your chest brought up here.” James tapped a wooden box outside in the hall. “If you’d like it, you’re going to have to help me.”

“Right. Of course.”

Francis stood and grabbed one side while James took the other. They set it down at the foot of the bed.

“Thank you.”

“You keep saying that, like you’re surprised we’d offer you a place here,” James said.

“Forgive me if it’s been a few years.”

“Right, of course.” James turned and walked back into the hall and returned with a paper wrapped parcel. “These came for you earlier, before we arrived. We figured you needed some more clothes that weren’t part of the Navy ensemble. Anne and I took some liberties, we hope you’ll find them acceptable.” He set it down next to the dresser.

“If it’s anything like your taste, James, I doubt it,” Francis teased.

“Well, I’ll take you to my tailor and we can get you whatever drab colours and outdated patterns you like, once you’re settled.” 

Francis shook his head and chuckled. 

“Will you be alright for the night?” James asked, lingering in the doorway. 

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t be far.”

“Christ’s sake, James!”

“Very well. Good night, Frank.”

When James left, Francis closed the doors. He dropped onto the bed, making a half-hearted effort at removing the rest of his clothing. He lay staring at the plaster designs on the ceiling again.

This was comfort, this was home. At least, it was supposed to be. He was a stranger here.

Still, Francis let his eyes fall closed.

Francis was out on the frozen plain again. This time, in darkness. No moon or stars shone above, only the faint glow coming from the tent he now stood outside. He recognized that same horrible brown tarp as it flapped in the wind. That same wind that bit at Francis’ face. 

He lifted back the cloth and stepped inside. 

There, sat a man, cross legged on the floor in front of the flame. 

“Hickey,” Francis said, recognizing his sinister features. 

“Ah, I was waiting for when you would finally be joining us,” he said, a wicked smile on his face. 

“Us?”

“Yes, the rest of us men. Dead men. The ones you turned your back on.”

Francis clenched his fist. “I never turned my back. And I don’t fault any of them for the choices they made. Choices they made in an effort to survive.”

“Survive you, perhaps.”

“I could forgive all the mutineers. All but you.”

“You think about forgiveness a lot, do you? Do you include yourself in that forgiveness?” 

_No,_ Francis thought. 

“You hold yourself to the standard of a man you are not… nor should have tried to be. You let shame drive you on and on. It’s part of the reason we are here now. They’re dead now, as am I. As is your rescue party. Whatever you think of them doesn’t mean anything now.”

“They aren’t.”

“Oh yes, they are,” Hickey insisted. He smiled. “They’re here with me now. Perhaps south was the wrong way to go. You realized that in the end, didn’t you? But it was too late for them. You left them to their fate.”

“No.” Francis shook his head. “No...”

“Well, you can tell that to them.” Hickey's eyes drifted somewhere behind Francis. 

Francis knew he should not look. Yet, he turned his head. 

At the mouth of the tent stood at least a dozen men. Tozer, Armitage, Gibson, Magnus. Dead men. Torn clothing showing rotting wounds and dried blood, fogged over eyes stared back at Francis.

Lieutenant Hodgson made his way to the front of the party, dark blood seeping from his shoulder.

 _Why?_ he said.

Francis turned back to Hickey. He now stood with blood dripping out of his mouth. He reached his hand out to Francis, something horrible in his palm. 

A tongue. His tongue, Francis realized. 

Francis stepped backwards. He hit the canvas and tumbled to the ground. 

The men stood all around him, staring down with their clouded eyes. 

_Why?_

Francis tore at the canvas, trying to get free.

Someone grabbed Francis’ shoulder and shook him. 

Francis opened his eyes. 

He was awake and tangled in the bed linens. In the dim candlelight he could make out James’ face above him. Eyes wide. 

Francis hated this more than the dream. The dream, at least, was just a dream. The worry in those eyes, on the other hand, was unmistakably real.

“Frank?” James whispered. 

“James.” 

“Another dream?”

“Another dream.” Francis sighed. 

James stood and brushed a hand through his hair. His hand moved, covering his mouth in another feeble attempt to mask his worry. “Where do you go when this happens?” 

“Would you believe me if I said it was hell?”

“Yes.” James let out a long breath. “Will you tell me this time?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I- yes. If you’ll tell me.”

“Very well.” Francis patted the spot on the bed beside him. 

James didn’t hesitate to climb up onto the bed. 

“I dreamt of the men we lost along the way. The ones we abandoned,” Francis said. He turned his head away from James. 

“I came so close to losing them all, James.”

“But you did not,” James said. “You brought them back. So many of them-”

“I almost didn’t. It was a long walk out, and in the wrong direction. I could have lost them. One by one, every one of them...”

“You made sure that never happened.”

Francis shook his head. “I suppose I’ll take your word for it.” It was all Francis had now. 

He looked up. James was looking back. He still had full faith in Francis, somehow. That look, that look was always enough to make Francis do all sorts of things. 

James’ hand fell on his. He smiled gently. 

“Shall I stay?” James asked. 

Francis huffed. “Something tells me you will anyway.”

“Well, I won’t accept one of your usual excuses.”

Francis just stared back at James. “Very well.”

He shifted back in the bed trying to get comfortable. James’ hand brushed his under the covers. 

James laughed. “It’s a good thing we gave you a bed this big, if this keeps up.”

“Perhaps. Do you intend to spend every night here then?” Francis teased. As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he regretted it. 

James sat there in silence. 

This was one of those lines Francis wasn’t meant to cross. 

“Well, I’m here if you need me,” James said, quietly. 

They sat in silence in the dark. Francis could hear James’ breath to his left, and just that was enough. 

“Can’t believe the mess I am,” Francis admitted, finally. “Grown man, a full captain, scared to go to bed because of night terrors.”

“You can’t be ashamed, Francis.”

“I hate demanding so much of your time. Disturbing you every time something happens.”

“You’re not.”

Francis couldn’t bring himself to face James.

“I’ve said it before, I made a mistake letting you go alone. That decision haunted me for years.”

“That letter was a low point for me,” Francis said. “I shouldn’t have troubled you.”

“No, you should have troubled me.” James put his hand over Francis’. “You should have done it sooner.”

“In truth, I didn’t know how. Still don’t.” 

“You’re halfway there.”

Francis nodded. It was hardly true, he wasn’t even close. 

“The uncertainty was terrifying, I still remember it now,” James said.

“Back in ‘29?” Francis asked. 

“Yes. I still think about the sheer luck that we were rescued. That a ship just happened to be there when we were. A ship I knew at that.”

“You never told me much about the journey.”

“I think that was intentional on my part, I wanted to move past it as fast as possible. In mind more than body… I left much of it out of my letter to you at the time.”

“I spent those years worried sick, stuck on another ship getting burnt in the sun.”

“Yes. well, I got a taste of that myself.”

“So, you got on a ship and found us.”

“Precisely.” 

Both lay there, staring at the ceiling. 

“I still wonder how I ended up here, how we both did,” Francis said. 

“What do you mean?” James asked, turning to him. 

“Here, alive…”

“Ah.”

“We’ve lost so many friends.”

“We have.”

“An estate and a wonderful wife, you certainly deserve it…” Francis trailed off. He stopped himself. He’d said enough already. 

“What? And you think you’re not allowed to have such things too?”

“It’s not what I pictured.”

“Now you can. I can take you on a proper tour of the grounds tomorrow to help with the visualizing.”

Francis sighed. “You say that like you intend for me to stay here forever.”

James propped himself up on one elbow. “You know Anne and I have no objection to that.”

There were a dozen different things Francis wanted to say in objection. Surely, this arrangement would not be feasible in the long term. What would he even do? How long before they regret their decision? 

“Alright, James. It’s far too late for this now.” Francis should let him rest now, no more heavy conversation. 

James sank back down into the bed and yawned. “You’re probably right. Get some rest, I’ll be here.”

Francis lay back in the bed, pulling the covers up. James turned, his back pressing against Francis’ arm. 

Francis turned on his side and pressed his back against James’. This would be the only luxury he would allow himself. He could justify it as keeping James warm now if nothing else. That would be enough, it would have to be.

Francis lay there awake. He took turns between staring out the window and at the ceiling. 

After an hour, or so Francis assumed by the faint glow from outside, James groaned and shifted onto his back. 

Francis counted, making sure enough time had passed, before he turned over to look at James. He lay there, asleep, still in his dressing gown. His hair obscured much of his face, but Francis wouldn’t dare reach over and move it. 

Francis envied his peace. Perhaps, if he had not known James so long, he would resent him for it. Still, he debated if he should wake James and send him back to Anne. 

Instead, Francis kept watch, letting him sleep. 

The sun began to rise, lighting up the room. 

James stirred and sat up when the beams hit the pillows. Francis shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. 

James yawned and then slowly slid off the bed. He stood there, waiting for something. 

Francis held his breath. He could feel James’ eyes on him. 

This went on too long, in Francis’ mind, before James quietly made his way out of the room and closed the door behind him. 

Francis sat up and took a deep breath. Sunlight streamed in through the gaps in the drapery. He threw aside the covers and stood. 

Maybe his dreams were right, at least in some part. His guilt, his regret, and his shame. That was it, wasn’t it? What drove him to his choices. Francis didn’t want to show his face in London again. Whatever excuse he made, he didn’t deserve the public’s adoration and pity. James saved the expedition, not Francis, no matter what stories James tried to spin. 

Francis pulled back the curtains. Neptune looked up from his spot on the rug and whined. “Still asleep?” Francis whispered. He knelt to pet the dog. “Good boy. You can rest now too.” 

Francis looked over at the sea chest standing at the foot of the bed. He hadn’t had the heart to open it all this time. 

Perhaps it was time now, even if it was only out of penance. He made his way over to it now. Salt and ice had made its way into the locks and hinges. A few tries, and it remained shut. Perhaps that’s how it was to be. Francis was thankful he didn’t have to see the reminders inside. 

He lifted himself onto the chair across from the vanity. There, he took a moment to look at himself in the mirror. He groaned and combed a hair through his now almost entirely grey hair. The last time he’d shaved was days earlier, for all those meetings when he still had to at least resemble a captain again. 

What did it all matter now? He traced his fingers across all the white hair that was starting to become a beard. 

Francis turned back to the dresser. Again, all the furniture in this room, and he’d only need two drawers. 

His eyes found the parcel James had left him. He pulled at the paper and began laying out the items on the bed. Most of it was nothing special, shirts and trousers in the styles Francis’ always preferred. The waistcoat, however, was a deep red with a simple dark brocade design.

Francis sighed. He already owned everything to James and Anne, and this debt was only becoming harder to repay.

Francis dressed in new clothes and made his way downstairs. When he left the dressing room, Neptune was nowhere to be found. He sighed and continued to the stairs. 

Francis froze at the bottom of the stairs looking left and right, not sure which of the many rooms contained the Rosses now. 

“Frank!” Anne called. “In here.”

Francis followed her voice and entered what he assumed was the drawing room. Anne sat on the ground holding a sketchbook.

“Ah it’s good to see you up and about,” James said. He sat across from Anne, holding his daughter. 

“I think it’s time to make introductions,” Anne said. She set the sketchbook down. On the page, she had started sketching out James and the child sitting together. 

“This is little Anne,” said James looking down at the little girl. 

“Nice to meet you, Anne,” Francis said, waving.

The little Anne looked briefly at Francis and then looked away, finding him uninteresting.

“James, would you come in here please?” Anne called.

The little boy Francis had seen the night before entered the room, with Neptune following.

“I’d like you to meet your Uncle Frank,” James said to his son. 

“We’ve met,” the boy said. “You’re Frank who got lost in the arctic!”

“Be nice please, James,” Anne said

“Well, he’s not entirely wrong,” Francis said, reaching out to shake the boy’s hand. 

Little James turned back to chasing Neptune around the room. 

“Oh, Frank, a letter came for you,” James said. “It's on the table over there.” He pointed to the one by the door.

Francis stood and went to look. It lay face down with the prominent red seal facing upwards. He reached and flipped it over. 

He recognized the script on the address, it was from Sophia Cracroft. 

“I’m going to go see to this...” Francis said. 

“Take your time,” Anne said. 

Francis went into James’ study and sat down. He scanned the mess of papers and instruments on James’ desk and sighed. Some things never changed. He carefully moved some torn open letters aside and found the letter opener. 

He broke the seal and began to read through Sophia’s elegant script. 

_I truly hope we can once again be friends, despite all that has passed between us. I will await your response._

_I remain your faithful friend,_

_Sophy_

Francis leaned back in the chair. 

In all honesty, he’d almost forgotten about Sophia somewhere between Erebus and North Somerset. Only the guilt over his last promise remained. 

How exactly was he to respond to her? If he couldn’t even speak to James, what could he say to Sophia who always wanted him to be someone else? Another person, another wall. 

He folded the letter back up. This would have to be something he would deal with at another time. Not now. He didn’t need Sophia in his mind again. 

“Are you alright?” James asked, appearing in the doorway. 

Francis sighed. “As well as I can be.”

“Right, of course.”

“It was from Sophia.”

“I know.” James walked in and stopped in front of the desk. 

“No comments about that then, James?”

“No, no. It’s your business.” He turned to lean on the desk. 

“Very well.”

“You know, I was thinking,” James said, “I’ll give you this study for the time being, if you wish to work on writing...”

“Do you still keep scotch in your drawers?”

James shook his head. “It’s all gone now.”

“Good.”

“Anyway, I assume you’d like to start writing soon.”

“My memoirs?”

“Yes. The Expedition account, I assume?”

“Right.” Francis would have to write it, wouldn’t he? “I’m sure Fitzjames would want to do it for me, if I let him.”

“Ah, I’ve read his poetry, I think I’d rather you do it. Besides, there’s the matter of the magnetic observations.”

“You want to look at the data, don’t you?”

James shrugged but he revealed himself with his smile. 

“Nothing exciting, I’m afraid, James. But very well, you’ll have to help me write it.”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Well, I’ve got a dozen journals for you to sort through.”

“Fantastic, I’ll start tonight!”

“If you say so,” Francis said with a sigh. ”You realize I’m going to want to organize the mess you have in here, right?”

“Well, it’s your study now.” James smiled and without another word, slipped out of the room. 

Francis stared down at the letter. He would write a letter, but not to Sophia. 

He sat down and began writing his Christmas invitation to James Fitzjames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- So I have the privilege of not being able to remember reading the book (I read it in 2011 lol) and I’m very intrigued by the characters of Sophia and Lady Jane. Some of the info about them was taken from this post summarizing events in _Lady Franklin’s Revenge_ : [ link ](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://dedraconesilet.tumblr.com/post/618205406266818561/a-review-of-lady-franklins-revenge-2006-by-ken&sa=D&ust=1597628951936000&usg=AFQjCNFG_4IEQT7jZr1WbH7tW4bQmLY79Q)  
> \- One of my favourite things is that Lady Jane made homemade jam to give to JCR when they were in Tasmania  
> \- according to tulliaciceronis: The term "sketchbook" was in use to describe a bound collection of blank paper for drawing as early as 1820.  
> \- Aston Abbotts floor plans and images (modern): [ link](https://assets.savills.com/properties/GBLHCHLAC110031/LAC110031_LAC18000014.PDF)  
> \- the portrait referenced is based on JCR’s 1847 Pickersgill portrait with the spyglass


	5. V

**Christmas 1848**

Francis stood in James’ study, staring out at the falling snow outside in the night. It barely coated the ground, which remained dark as the snow melted on contact. 

Still, in his mind, Francis worried about what could be looming there in the shadows, behind the hedges, or on the other side of that lake.

He’d long since left the ships, but he felt trapped here once again. Endless space to roam, and infinite pressure.

“You keep searching, Frank. Whatever you are looking for, I don’t think you’re going to find it,” James said as he wandered in.

Francis sighed. “I would hope.”

“Our guests are here.”

He wore that emerald waistcoat that Francis liked to see so much. Francis let himself stare out of the corner of his eye as James wandered to the desk and looked over his notes. 

James dressed for the occasion. Not that James didn’t have quite the vanity streak when he wasn’t out trying to freeze to death. Like some bird showing off to get a potential mate’s attention. 

Perhaps Francis should have dressed up too, but there was no time now.

“I’m glad your handwriting has remained as neat as always,” James said, smiling at Francis as he lifted up the journal. 

“Can’t say the same about you,” Francis replied.

James waved a hand at him and looked back down at the papers littering the desk. “Are these the new readings you took here?” he asked, pointing to another book. 

“They are. Taken by Fitzjames, not I. He had some issue with his Fox.”

“Ah.” James disappeared into the pages. 

“Anyway, you were saying? Guests? Did you say guests, plural?”

“Just downstairs,” James replied, without looking up. “Anne is greeting them.”

“Of course.” Francis shook his head. He walked over to the door, but James remained there. “Focus, James! Are you coming?” 

James finally looked up, almost annoyed. “Right! Yes.”

In the foyer stood Captain Fitzjames and Commander LeVesconte. 

“Didn’t realize you two were a package deal when I sent the invitation, James,” Francis teased as he shook Fitzjames’ hand. 

“Dundy has been staying with me in Brighton, I didn’t think it would be fair to leave him there alone. He’d eat all the biscuits.”

LeVesconte elbowed him in the arm. 

“Well, it’s not a worry here, we have plenty of biscuits,” James added.

“Always a pleasure, Sir James,” Fitzjames replied. 

“So, Fitzjames, Frank tells me you like pudding,” James said, “you’ll have to tell me what your preferences are so we can prepare it for dinner”

“I’d be delighted!”

“Careful, James, or he’ll be telling you all evening,” Francis said.

“How have England’s winters been treating you?” Anne asked.

“Quite well, thank you,” Fitzjames said.

“Still too cold if you were to ask me,” LeVesconte replied. 

“Ah, but everything is too cold for you now, Dundy,” James teased. “I think he’d like to be appointed to an expedition headed somewhere near the equator sometime soon.”

“I’d have no complaints about that.”

“So eager to get back out there?” Francis asked.

“Oh no, not me,” Fitzjames replied. “I think it’s more about the change of scenery. I think I would like to visit the tropics soon, however. Take a proper vacation for once in my life.” He smiled. “I’ll have to write to you about it, Francis.”

“Please do,” Francis said.

“Right, then we should get you two settled then,” James said, motioning to the stairs. 

**Later That Day**

Francis sat drinking tea with James in the morning room. 

They remained inside while James Fitzjames, Neptune, and little James played in the snow. Further in the distance Anne and little Anne walked the grounds. The snow fell lightly, and just a dusting now covered the ground. 

A snowball flew past and hit Fitzjames in the face. Neptune jumped up, following it, and knocked him down. 

“He’s down! I am victorious!” Little James yelled as he ran circles around the scene. 

“Christ, the poor man. What have we subjected him to?” James teased. 

Francis laughed. “Oh, believe me, he is enjoying this.”

“Sounds like.”

Outside Fitzjames was putting on a dramatic performance of his death, moaning and waving his arms in the air and Neptune licked his face. 

“I should be out there too,” James said. He lifted his cup and took a sip. “I feel a lot older than I look, you know. The energy is just gone now. I thought, if I had to spend a winter in that pack, surely I’d be done for.”

Francis turned to look at James. 

“James-” Francis didn’t know what to say. He was never good at words, certainly not with James. James was always the one with something to say, never vulnerable. That all seemed different now. 

“Now, where has the other one got to?”

“Huh?”

“Dundy.”

“Think he’s warming up in the kitchen. He doesn’t do well with snow now, after...”

“Ah. Well, no one here is going to make him go out there now.”

“Still, he should join us.”

“Commander LeVesconte!” James called in that same commanding tone he always used on a ship.

“Yes, sir?” LeVesconte appeared from around the corner. 

Francis covered his mouth to hide his grin. 

“Have your tea in here with us,” James said, his voice soft again. 

“Of course.” LeVesconte brought in his tea and sat in the armchair by the fire. On his saucer, he had managed to balance three biscuits. 

“I was hoping you might be able to answer a question for me,” James said, staring at him. 

“I’ll do my best.”

“The cheetah,” James began, “I’ve heard stories, but is it true about Captain Fitzjames?”

Francis burst out laughing. 

“Yes. We did have a cheetah onboard the Clio.”

“Interesting. See, I had a cat on board Erebus, and we had an opossum too, didn’t we, Frank? Interesting creature.”

“James, I think you should show LeVesconte here your lucky ship’s biscuit,” Francis said.

“Oh, of course! Hold on let me get it.” He set his tea aside and stood. He turned to LeVesconte. “Now, of course you can’t eat it.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Good lad.”

James swept past Francis into the hall and disappeared around the corner. 

“How’s James? Your James that is?” Francis asked.

“He’s had better days, of course. He’s good at putting on a good face,” LeVesconte replied.

“I know.”

“I think a vacation would do him good, some time in the sun.”

“Certainly. How’s Brighton? I hope the place isn’t too drafty.”

“No, no, it’s quite suitable.”

“Ah I have found it!” James announced. He waltzed over to them, the biscuit displayed in his hand. 

“What exactly makes it lucky?” LeVesconte hesitantly reached out to take it, but James snatched it away just in time.

“It was with me at the magnetic north pole, at furthest south, and when I sailed to the Arctic one last time. All to find Francis and you all exactly where I expected you to be.”

“That’s quite a streak, Sir James,” Dundy said, before taking a bite of his own biscuit. 

The door to the garden burst open, sending chilled air and snowflakes into the room. Fitzjames burst in holding little James, his hair filled with snow. “Right I think, that was enough fun for one day,” he said. 

“Good Christ, careful, you’ll catch your death like that,” Francis said.

“Finally met your match, eh Fitz?” LeVesconte said. 

“I’ll be perfectly alright, Francis,” Fitzjames said. “Sir James, I have to commend you, it’s a fine young man you’re raising here.”

“Why thank you, Captain Fitzjames.”

Both Annes followed them inside. “Well that was fun, wasn’t it? Right, we’ll get the children sorted and join you three for tea as well,” Anne said to Francis, James and LeVesconte. 

Although worn out for the day, Francis walked back to his room with a smile. 

As he passed one of the guest bedrooms, inside he could hear Fitzjames and LeVesconte chatting incessantly. He stopped outside the door, wondering if he should say goodnight. They would probably be awake for several hours more, possessing energy Francis never had, even in his youth.

Their familiarity reminded Francis of him and James, in a way. Though James did understand the need for a silent moment. Francis shook his head. He’d leave them to their conversation. He’d be interrupting, and he doubted any of them would wants that after such a pleasant day. 

Francis walked on back to his room. He climbed into bed. Neptune had long abandoned him in favour of little James, so tonight he would have the full bed to himself, not that he would use it.

A figure appeared in the doorway and pushed the door open. James poked his head inside. “Will you be alright for the night?”

“Yes, I think so, James. I am doing a lot better,” Francis said. He meant it. 

“I can see it myself. Good night, Frank”

“Goodnight, James dear.”

Tired and content, Francis drifted into sleep. 

Francis stepped off Terror to find men cheering. An ice sculpture greeted him, and lanterns led the way to an ice ballroom. Men cheered in the distance. Francis looked up, the southern cross shone brightly high above.

He breathed a sigh of relief. This was the Antarctic again, Francis remembered this. 

“There you are,” said James, walking by in that emerald green gown. “I was looking for you.”

“Oh?” Francis said. 

“I have something in mind, I think.” He reached out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

“I think I ought to be asking you that, Miss Ross.”

“Well, does that mean you will dance with me?”

“Of course.”

He took Francis’ hands and wrapped one around his waist. James spun him around on the ice as music played faintly in the distance. Even the cold air was bearable. This was a good dream. 

“Francis,” someone said behind him, tapping him on the shoulder. 

Francis turned. Sir John Franklin stared back with his sullen eyes.

“Christ!”

“This isn’t where you’re supposed to be, Francis,” Sir John said.

“Go away,” Francis said. 

He turned back to James, but in front of him was not James, but a woman he did not know. Francis let her go. 

He looked around. The ice and the flags and the excited cheers of his men were gone. He felt the decks of Erebus beneath his feet. The scene was now but quiet chatter and low music. 

Francis sighed. 

“Do you know where you are, Francis?” Franklin said. 

“Unfortunately.” 

He looked up at the sky and found it dark and empty again. Yes, he was in that place again. He looked around again. On the far side of the deck stood James, with his immaculate hair and finest dress uniform, surrounded by three young ladies. He looked tired, and eager to leave, still he managed to put on a smile and led one of them to the dance floor. 

Francis felt sick to his stomach. 

“Do you remember this night?” Franklin asked.

Francis remembered this night. This awful night. 

“A night of celebration, and you and I are the only ones frowning.”

“Well, you’re dead,” Francis replied. 

“And you are not?”

“I-” Francis wasn’t entirely sure anymore. He didn’t feel all that alive. 

“You’re still looking back to the sea,” Franklin said. “Turn your back to sea and find a new place.”

“I heard you the first time. Do you really believe such a thing exists for men like us?”

Franklin didn’t answer, instead opened his hands and held out Francis’ compass. “You will need this,” he said. 

Francis took it back slowly. It felt cold, far too cold in Francis’ hand. He looked down at it, studying the cracked glass. 

“Why?” Francis asked. 

“Do you think anyone here, besides the officers and the crew, would recognize what this is, Francis?”

“Not likely.” He traced his hand over the leather coating the metal, serving its purpose of protecting his fingers from the frozen metal. At first glance to most, it would look like some odd pocket watch. 

“How well do you think they sleep?” Franklin asked. 

“I-”

“Then this will be how you measure peace.”

“What? Why are you doing this? Why help me?”

“Perhaps guiding you is my own journey to peace. Perhaps I am just a ghost of your own mind. Either way, it matters not. That compass does.”

When Francis looked up, Franklin was gone. The darkness began to fade.

Francis awoke, in his bed, fully alert.

He sat up and stared at the chest lying at the foot of his bed. Francis fiddled to light the lamp that stood on the nightstand and climbed out of the bed. 

He set the lamp down on the floor and knelt before the chest. It had been nearly a month since he’d returned here, and still, it remained untouched. 

A layer of dust was starting to gather at the top. Francis tried to brush it off with his sleeve. It wasn’t much use, all he had achieved was to make himself cough.

Francis began to pull at the latches again. This time, they clicked open with relative ease. Carefully, he managed to pry it open. 

It still smelled of ice and dirt. Francis dug past the coats and remaining pieces of his uniform. Few of these items were his, still. At the bottom, completely untouched, lay his arctic sledge compass.

Francis stared at it. He was sure he had lost it somewhere when they were walking out, and he was certain he didn’t leave it in that chest. 

He took it out and studied its state. The cracks were the same as in Francis’ dream. The needle pointed away from him, away from where the sun was to rise, and instead to the west. Francis shook it and turned it 180 degrees. Still, the needle steadily turned past magnetic north and back to its steady westward bearing.

He sat up and set it in the top drawer of his dresser, out of sight. He pushed all the irrational theories about it out of his head. 

Perhaps this all wasn’t quite done after all. 

Despite being at closer to capacity now, the house was silent, and now the silence left Francis uneasy, made him feel like he might be back in that dream place. 

Francis needed to go see the sky. He pulled on his dressing gown and made his way downstairs. 

As he stood at the foot of the stairs, Francis saw a light burning in the library. He approached and found Fitzjames sitting on the ground, sifting through a book. 

“James?”

Fitzjames jumped and slammed the book he was holding shut. “Oh, Francis! What are you doing up? Frightened me for a moment there...”

“At ease,” Francis reassured him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” Fitzjames said, looking down. 

“It’s been going ‘round.”

“After all we saw, it’s a wonder we’ll ever get a decent night’s sleep ever again.”

Francis chucked. “I’m sure we’ll get better one day.” 

Fitzjames nodded half-heartedly. 

“Do you have someone you can talk to, about these dreams?”

“Dundy. Although, he has not been as affected by all this as me. I’m certainly glad for that, though.”

“As am I. I know several of the other men have not fared well.”

“Well, I suppose we will have to entertain each other here for the night, too.”

“Suppose we will.” 

“I do have a question for you though, if you don’t mind,” Fitzjames said. 

“Alright.” Francis supposed it couldn’t hurt. 

“Do you think you’ll ever go to sea again?”

“No, I’m certainly retired. Probably should have earlier. Anything they can give me means nothing now.”

“Ah.”

“And you?” Francis asked. 

“I’m not sure if I can. I’m not sure how… They made me a captain, after all. Perhaps I can finally get a command post in the Mediterranean.” He smiled softly, then looked down, turning the book over and over in his hands. “Still, it doesn't make the fear go away.”

“Not warm enough.”

“No. Don’t think any amount of sun and heat will ever make me feel warm again,” Fitzjames said. He put the book back on the shelf behind them. 

“That’s how it felt after the Antarctic for me too. I thought I was done then, surely ought to have been.” After James married and left him alone. He never meant to, of course, but Francis couldn’t stand it. So, he looked to the sea again. 

“Why did you go, then, when you thought you were done?” Fitzjames asked. “I recall the last time I asked, you didn’t give me a true answer.”

“Yes, I do apologize, I was rather…”

“Drunk?” 

“Yes.”

“As was I, that night, if I’m being honest.”

“Well, it was long ago. What’s it to you now?”

“Curiosity. Perhaps a desire to know one of your secrets. Perhaps I’m just looking to be entertained and tired of telling the stories myself.”

“I have no grand stories, James.”

“Not even of furthest south?”

“There are stories there, but they are not mine to tell.” Francis sighed. “I was always more of an observer, not the one living them.”

“Then why go to the Arctic again? Forgive my curiosity.”

“Why, when I don’t even like the glory of a good pudding?”

Fitzjames’ face fell. 

“I jest, of course,” Francis said. 

“Oh! Thank God.”

“No, I was there because I made a mistake.”

“Ah, Miss Sophia Cracroft.”

“No. Yes and no,” Francis admitted. “Perhaps that is why I thought I wanted to be there. I wanted everything you or any man wanted. A knighthood, a marriage, some peace away from the sea, eventually.”

“Ah.”

“I failed to realize that perhaps that wasn’t the life meant for me. My closest friend had married and retired, I thought I should look to do the same.”

“When my friend Charlewood married, I felt much the same too. At one point before the expedition, I thought, if I don’t get a command I’d go and get married. But that would be no life for me. But… I suppose you could have it now, could you not? If you wanted.”

Francis sighed. “Perhaps. But few understand the life of an explorer. Even a retired one.”

“That is true. I suppose you have every comfort here, then.”

“I do. James and Anne have been ever so kind. They always have been to me. Why would I want a marriage to a stranger, someone who has never been to sea, when I have friends who don’t expect me to be anything more than I already am?” Perhaps, Francis didn’t fully understand it until he himself said the words. They never asked him to be anyone else. 

“I can understand that. That’s how I’ve always felt about the matter. And perhaps if we’d recognized that in each other earlier, we’d be able to put out differences aside.”

Francis chuckled. “Perhaps.” No, whatever reasons James had, they were not Francis’. Although, he did wonder about how close Fitzjames and LeVesconte were. It was none of his business.

“Have I ever told you that I tried to join the Antarctic expedition?” Fitzjames said. 

“Oh! James - James Ross that is - wouldn’t stop complaining to the Admiralty at every moment he got that they wouldn’t grant you as his gunnery lieutenant.”

“Really?” Fitzjames tried to feign surprise. 

“Please, don’t act like you didn’t know.”

“Fair. How different things would have been…”

“I wouldn’t have had to hear you tell that sniper story five times over, that’s for sure.”

“Perhaps it’d be replaced by that of penguins instead.”

“You wouldn’t last a minute against those penguins.”

Fitzjames laughed. “I think I must try to get back to sleep after all. Wouldn’t want to fall asleep at my plate at dinner tomorrow if I’m to recount that story again.” He tapped Francis’ shoulder as he stood.

“Yes, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Yes, I have a whole other hour to add now, as you’ve told me.”

“Oh Christ.” 

“Good night, Francis.”

“Good night, James.”

Francis picked up the book that Fitzjames had left on the shelf. The gold lettering on the spine read: “ _James Clark Ross’ Voyage to the Southern Seas. Vol. I.”_

Curious, Francis opened it up. He flipped through the diagrams and introductions and began reading James’ account of their voyage. 

“Frank!”

Francis groaned. His back and shoulders ached. 

He opened his eyes to bright light and James standing over him. 

“Oh, Christ,” Francis said as he tried to shift his position leaning against the shelf.

“You fell asleep in the library,” James said.

“Oh, I am painfully aware of that now,” Francis replied. 

“Here, let me help you up.” He reached out his hands. 

Francis took both and let James pull him up. His hand lingered on James’ forearm for support. 

“Well, I won’t ask why you fell asleep in the library,” James said. 

“I think it’s plain enough,” Francis replied. 

Someone cleared their throat in the doorway. 

They both turned. Francis let go of James and dropped his arms so quickly it sent a wave of pain through his shoulder. 

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Fitzjames said. 

“Not at all, Captain,” James said.

“Just call me Ja- oh. Right.”

James shrugged.

“Oh please, I hardly think he’ll mind being reminded of his promotion,” Francis said. 

“Well, if it is easier to avoid confusion, I certainly don’t mind,” Fitzjames replied. His grin told the whole story.

“Very well. Yes?” James asked. 

“We’ve been waiting for you to start breakfast,” Fitzjames said.

“Oh, of course. Go ahead. We’ll be there shortly.” James spoke quickly. He was annoyed by the interruption, Francis realized. 

“Go ahead. I need to get dressed,” Francis said. 

Francis hurried up the stairs back to his room. He splashed water on his face and brushed a comb through his hair, and then dressed in the same clothes he'd worn the day before. 

He proceeded to the morning room. 

“What shall we do today?” Fitzjames asked from his perch between Anne and Dundy. 

Francis yawned as he slid into his seat across from Anne, next to James.

“What would you like to do?” James asked.

“I’m not sure,” Fitzjames admitted. 

“Well, I, for one, would like to enjoy some tea and sit still,” Francis said. 

“Yes, Francis, we get the sense.”

“In a rather unorthodox fashion, we will also be forgoing a traditional Christmas dinner, and giving the cooks a well-deserved break,” James announced. 

LeVesconte’s face fell into a frown.

“Really? No dinner?” Fitzjames scanned the faces in the room, worried. He looked to Francis. “Is this because of what I said about the story?” 

“No, no, certainly not that,” Francis said. No, the reality was that when James had proposed the dinner, Francis had said he would not attend. He didn’t need to do that. “It was at my insistence. Please do not be disappointed with James.”

The table fell silent. 

“We should go for a hike, all of us,” Fitzjames said, finally. 

“That’s a brilliant idea, Captain Fitzjames, I would hardly mind going out to stretch my legs,” Anne said. 

“Think we’ve been outvoted, old man,” James said to Francis. 

“Do I get a vote?” LeVesconte asked.

“No,” Fitzjames answered. 

After breakfast, they all dressed and met outside. 

The Jameses raced ahead. It wasn’t much of a surprise that they were the fastest walkers, both once capable of walking 50 miles in a day. Even now, they were unable to slow down for their companions. 

James’ voice trailed in the distance. “So, Fitzjames, I was looking over the magnetic reading you took, I noticed a few things…”

Fitzjames shot a terrified look back at Francis. Francis waved him off. 

“Christ, the poor man,” Anne said, walking beside Francis.

“Which one?” Francis offered his arm for her to lean on as she trudged through the snow. 

“Captain Fitzjames. Our James is going to talk his ears off,” she said.

Francis laughed. “It’ll be an interesting change for him. A taste of his own medicine, I’m sure.” 

“I know he’s not happy with the readings. We shall hope he takes mercy on the young captain.”

“Fitzjames never should have been left in change with so little experience, otherwise he’d have checked the instruments.” 

Anne squeezed his arm, sensing his frustration. “I’m glad James is able to help you sort through it all, at least. He had an awful time doing it alone last time.”

Dundy finally caught up to them, bundled up in a thick knit wool scarf. 

Anne turned to him. “So tell me, Commander LeVesconte, or do you prefer Dundy?” she asked. “Why is it Dundy?”

“My name is Henry Thomas Dundas LeVesconte. It was Fitz’s idea,” LeVesconte replied.

“What am I to call you then? Henry? Thomas? Dundas?”

Francis chuckled.

“Dundy is perfectly fine, Ma’am.”

“Fantastic, Dundy it is.”

“Do you know which way Fitz and Sir James went?” he asked Francis. 

“Somewhere that way,” Francis pointed to the east. 

LeVesconte grumbled and began walking out to them. 

“Best of luck!” Anne yelled after him.

“Is it your turn to mess with him, then?” Francis asked. “James was already using him for some comedic relief last night.”

“Oh, I think he’s feeling a little out of place here. A surprise visit with three of his superior officers, and a lady he has hardly even met. All for Christmas! He must be quite tense.”

“Perhaps.”

“At his age, he’s more grey than you and James! He’s a nervous eater, too.”

“Right.”

“I do hope he catches up with them. Do you think James is done lecturing Captain Fitzjames yet?”

“Oh you know he’s only started. Doubt he’ll even be done by the time we catch up to them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for Chapter 5:  
> \- Think we all know about the kitten fiasco of HMS Terror during the antarctic expedition by now  
> \- [They did also have an opossum! ](https://handfuloftime.tumblr.com/post/620676019650723840/on-the-subject-of-pets-on-the-antarctic)  
> \- In case anyone didn’t know, JCR did actually want JFJ for the Antarctic expedition. If he were to go, that means he’d never have been in China. So no sniper story, and likely no cheetah or bird shit island story either.  
> \- I think by this point we all know the magnetic observations jokes and how Fitzjames struggled with them. [This excellent post explains Fitzjanes’ issues with his dipping needle ;)](https://indifferent-century.tumblr.com/post/622730515655589888/i-imagine-you-can-help-me-with-this-what-is-the)  
> \- [James Clark Ross’ lucky ships biscuit is 110% a real thing](https://indifferent-century.tumblr.com/post/183783757676/meganphntmgrl-we-went-to-death-on-the-ice-today). But it’s inclusion is also 110% a reference to a joke on discord about “What if Dundy tried to eat JCR’s lucky ship biscuit”  
> \- Also LeVesconte is the comedic relief here I’m sorry. I did not properly look up if he had a wife or not, so in this AU we will pretend that the only wife he has is Fitzjames and they had a beach wedding where the cheetah was the ring bearer. (Maybe one day I’ll write a proper fitzconte fic with ~characterization~) Update: according to his will, he did not have a wife, but I think the original note is hilarious.  
> \- I did not look up Victorian christmas traditions, fight me. The choice to avoid a christmas dinner is brought to you by: 1. I simply did not want to.


	6. VI

**New Years Eve 1848**

Faint piano music and a few hushed words between Anne and James carried from the drawing room into the study. Francis rubbed his temple and shut his eyes, making all the papers on the desk in front of him disappear. 

The music changed to a swift waltz, or more of a parody of one, really. James burst out laughing. The music stopped, dissolving into more indistinguishable whispers between the two of them. 

Anne and James were happy in that room. Francis could not bring himself to go there now. Instead, he pulled up the next notebook in the series. He was at the winter at Beechey Island now.

A knock on the doorframe pulled Francis from his thoughts. 

He looked up to see James. 

“I think it’s about time you come and join us,” James said.

“I’m afraid I’m not up for any celebrations tonight, James,” Francis replied. 

James sighed. “I did say your attendance at our little celebration was mandatory.”

Francis had every intention to go, at first. He had even dressed for the occasion in new clothes. Now, it felt futile. 

Sensing Francis’ reluctance, James shook his head. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where we are.” 

“Of course.”

James turned to leave but then stopped and looked back. “Before I go, I must say, you are looking quite well-rigged this evening. The red was a good choice on my part… would be a shame for you to hide in here now.” 

He disappeared back out into the hall before Francis even had a moment to react.

Francis let out a small noise in alarm. He looked back at the partially opened door where James had just stood. Francis looked down at his waistcoat. It wasn’t bold like anything James would wear, dark red and blue, cut to the pattern and fit of one he’d own before the expedition. 

He leaned back in his chair and looked at the book on the desk. He had time to write, there was no rush. Perhaps curiosity was as good a reason as any to put it off. 

He stood from his desk, straightened his clothes, and walked out of the study and into the hall towards the drawing room. 

There, James and Anne were making some attempt at a dance and failing. 

Anne quietly laughed, then turned to him. “Frank! How lovely of you to join us!”

“Well, James made a fairly convincing argument,” Francis said. 

“Did I?” James asked, raising an eyebrow.

Anne looked to the piano and then to Francis. “Did James ever teach you to dance?” she asked Francis.

“Oh, I certainly tried back in the day. Perhaps if we’d had a little less to drink, it would have stuck,” James said. 

“I recall you took no issue with my quadrille,” Francis said. 

“Ah, but a waltz?” Anne asked.

“Never my strength,” Francis answered. He sat down on the settee.

“Perhaps I should take it upon myself to teach you then. Since my husband failed so miserably.”

“Hey now, perhaps I should have another try.” James walked to stand beside Anne in front of Francis.

“Oh, you mean now?” Francis asked.

“Why of course, what better time??” Anne said. 

“Well, I see there are two of you. There are no dances for three. So, someone must sit out,” Francis said.

“Oh, there are plenty; one just needs to get creative,” Anne said, “but since your skills are clearly lacking, Frank, for now we will have to take turns.”

“I’m hopeless on the piano. You know that, Anne,” James said.

“Ah, see, we need more than two for a waltz after all. Well then, I will do the hard part of teaching Frank the steps, and then you, my dear,” Anne said, giving James a long look, “can reap the benefits of my work.”

“Very well,” James replied. 

“Are you sure you don’t just want to dance together?” Francis suggested. 

“Well, can you play the piano, Frank?” James asked.

“No.”

“Thought as much,” Anne said. “Now, on your feet.”

Francis stood. James sank down into the vacant space on the settee behind him.

Anne took Francis' hands and placed them in position on her waist and arm. “How far did we get?” She asked. “I assume you are to lead?”

“Oh, James always led,” Francis said. 

Anne looked over his shoulder at James. “Of course he did. Well, that’s no good. You see I’ve never been expected to lead a dance before.” 

“I always tried to avoid the parties, the dancing…”

“Then this will be something new for the both of us.” Anne readjusted Francis’ hand to her shoulder.

Francis began the first few steps. He did remember them quite well, or rather he remembered those nights of James half-drunkenly sweeping him around ships’ decks and freezing makeshift quarters. He had picked up the steps quickly, it was all about the numbers in the end, but if he admitted it, James would not keep trying to teach him. 

“Oh, not bad,” Anne said. “Perhaps my husband isn’t as hopeless of a teacher as I thought. Let’s speed things up a bit.”

Francis followed Anne’s lead again, managing to maintain the steps with relative ease. He looked back to see James on the settee. 

“Well done,” James said, clapping. 

Anne stopped them.

“Would you like a turn, dear?” Anne asked James. 

James stood before he could respond. He stopped before them. “Of course.” He reached out his hand to Francis. “May I have this dance?”

“Yes.”

Anne let him go and went over to the piano. “Ah, I have something new here, Frank, came out while you were away.” She flipped through the pages and began to play.

Francis slipped his arms around James. Despite the years, he fell back into the steps with ease. 

Anne played marvellously, as always. Any doubts Francis had before faded away. 

James’ hand on Francis’ waist was tight, like he was trying to pull him closer with every step. What would James do if he lingered behind? Or if he stepped even closer, where was that line between them now?

The clock in the hall chimed. The music stopped.

“Happy new year, Frank,” James said. 

“You too, James dear.”

James let go of Francis. There was the line. 

Francis stood there, holding onto the lingering sensation of James’ hands on him. He watched James walk over to Anne and give her a chaste kiss. 

“Happy new year, my darling.”

“You too, my dear.”

They were happy, and Francis was standing alone. The distance between them had never been clearer. The whole time, Anne and James had been so perfectly in sync, two halves of a whole, while Francis stumbled around them. 

This was exactly what Francis had feared. He should never have come here. 

Anne looked over at him and he tried his best to feign a smile. She yawned dramatically. “Well, my Captains, I’m afraid I am quite tired after that performance, I’m going to retire early tonight.” 

“Oh?” Francis asked, confused, before he could even process this.

“She’s taking a page from your book, old man,” James said.

“Yes. Just celebrate a little bit more for me too,” she gave them both a smile. 

As she left, Francis could have sworn she winked at James. Was this all some trick between them? Francis didn’t want to play along. 

“Another dance?” James asked, smiling and circling Francis. 

“We’ve no music now,” Francis said. His eyes fixed on Anne walking up the stairs. “I think I ought to retire too.” 

“Oh?” James looked disappointed.

“Yes,” Francis replied. He turned before James could do or say anything to change his mind. “Good night, James.” He walked back towards the study.

“Alright. Good night, Frank.”

Francis sat down at the desk and stared out at the darkness outside. He dug his nails into the armrests. Again, he had allowed himself to do this, return to this place of hanging onto James’ every almost-flirtatious kindness. This pain was his own doing. 

The room felt warm. Far too warm. Despite the size, this mansion was becoming just as stifling as the house at Eliot Place. He needed space, and air. 

Francis stood and briskly walked to the door. He took a coat from the hook and opened the door out to the grounds.

There were no lanterns out here, nothing leading his way, just the pitch-black night. As it should be. By some standards, it was cold, but after four years in the arctic Francis would barely consider it a chill. Everything was warm, still.

His shoes sank into the muddy ground, softened by melted snow. He walked out to the lake, thankful for the waxing crescent of the moon lighting his way.

A pair of angry swans hissed at him and swam away, sending ripples across the water.

Water, with no ice.

Francis turned and looked back at the house. One room remained lit upstairs. A light moved across the window and then was gone. That would be James, Francis assumed, extinguishing the light after joining Anne. 

No one knew Francis was out here. It was a relief, in a way. 

He turned away from the house and looked to the hedges that divided the land. They blended into the night and darkness surrounding them. It was silent here. Awfully silent. He could keep walking, past lakes and towards the hedges, into the fields and farmlands, or whatever the neighbouring lands held. James had said he could scream out here and no one would hear, now Francis was tempted to test that theory.

“Frank!” someone called behind him.

_Another dream,_ Francis thought. _This is all a dream. Figures._

Francis turned to see James running across the lawn towards him.

“What are you doing out here?” James asked.

“I felt…” No, not a dream. Not a nightmare. “I just wanted to get some air,” Francis said.

“Well, can I keep you company?” 

“Of course, James.” He could not refuse. Francis was doing it again, finding comforts in their closeness. As with the drink, he did not know how to stop. He wanted James here. 

“Pleasant evening for a stroll,” James said. Up close, Francis could see him shivering through in his shirtsleeves.

“Hardly. You should go home, James.”

“Not until you do.”

Francis sighed. He looked back up at the sky. “The night was good, once,” he said. “The night was full of stars.”

“It still is,” James said, looking up at the sky. 

Yes, the world was still the same, outside of Francis’ mind, that was what made it all so much worse. 

“The worst things happen at night, James,” Francis whispered. 

James reached his hand across Francis’ shoulder. “I know. That’s why I hate that you try to face it alone.”

Francis shook his head. He leaned into James, out of some old instinct.

“For a moment, I thought it was going to be alright,” Francis admitted, even if it was mostly for himself. 

“It will be.”

“I… I just feel I’m always intruding on some moment…”

James pulled back and studied Francis. “Frank, no.”

Francis looked down at his feet. 

“You fail to consider that perhaps I need you here just as much as you fear you might need me,” James said. 

“I-” Francis found he had no answer. 

James took his hand. Gently, intertwining their fingers, his skin far too cold. Francis took a sharp breath, letting the cold air burn his lungs. He could feel tears building, and he couldn’t entirely blame the cold. 

Every time, Francis kept getting it wrong. He squeezed James’ hand and pulled it close. 

“All those years, James dear,” he managed. 

“And you can’t fathom that I’ve loved you for all of them?”

“I...” Francis looked up. He tried to make out James’ face in the dark. His eyes, lacking colour in the dark, reflected the moon. James stepped closer and brought a hand to Francis’ cheek. A cold hand, but so was Francis’ face. 

Of course. It seemed inevitable now did it not? James was always so sure before he acted. Francis was not sure of his grip on reality anymore.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Francis asked.

“I wasn’t sure if you… Frank, I wanted _you_ to be sure.”

“I see. That is a dangerous game, James.”

James shrugged. “How was I to bring it up? How would I even… besides, I always worry if you’re just going along with my plans and ideas just because I said them.”

Francis sighed. It was true, but never for a lack of interest. “We should go inside, before you freeze to death.”

James nodded. 

They walked back to the house slowly, clinging close together. 

James led them back to Francis’ room. He sat down on the bed and began pulling off his boots. 

Francis opened his mouth to object but stopped. If James did have the intention of staying here for the night, Francis didn’t want to stop him. 

He turned around, letting James shed some of his layers in privacy. Even now it was hard to forget whose home he stood in. James and Anne’s, and James was Anne’s no matter how he or Francis felt now. Anne who was endlessly kind and welcoming to Francis, and the one actually married to James. 

“And Anne?” Francis asked. James loved Anne, Francis knew that for a fact, but how could he be so thoughtless now? To be unfaithful to her, and with Francis of all people, that would be the cruelest betrayal. 

“What of Anne?” James replied.

Francis' heart raced. “How would she feel… does she… I mean… We… Christ!”

“Ah,” James said. “She knows our history. She’s known for years.” His voice remained even and unconcerned, it was unnerving. 

“And she’s just alright with it?” Francis turned around to face him.

James still sat on the bed, his cravat hung untied around his neck. Something about the sight surprised him. Had Francis expected him to disappear?

“What can I say… I wouldn’t be here if she weren’t,” James said. 

“Of course.” Francis let out a breath. James had this all figured out before Francis even knew what was happening, yet again. “I think I’m the last one to know then.”

“She figured it out before I did, you know.”

“What does this even mean, James?” Francis turned, fighting his cuffs that suddenly felt too tight. He saw his own reflection in the vanity mirror. He looked ridiculous, all dressed up with the beard. This was not Francis, none of it was. 

“What do you want it to mean?” James asked. 

James crossed his arms. Francis caught his eye in the reflection and promptly looked away. 

“Think you’ll be waiting a couple more decades for that answer,” Francis replied. He only ever realized these things in hindsight. Perhaps James should just tell him instead and save them both. 

“I can wait,” James said, like he had never even had a crisis of confidence over this. 

“You waited until I was an old man,” Francis grumbled. 

James stood and walked over to Francis. “Let me.” He reached out a hand, stopping short of Francis’ wrist. 

Francis acquiesced, holding out his arms. James made quick work of the cuffs until the fabric hung like a weight from Francis’ wrists. 

“You’ve only got four years on me, Frank. You’re the one always reminding me of that.”

“Yet I’m the one whose hair is completely grey.”

“Ah, but you are so handsome in grey.”

Even in the candlelight, Francis could tell James’ gaze held an unmistakable desire. The room was far too warm again. Francis was never good at compliments, certainly not from James, who never gave them lightly. 

Francis turned his head. One day he wouldn’t, but it would not be that night. Francis hoped James would not see him blush. 

This was ridiculous, Francis thought. What was he to do with this? James, with whom he thought he could share anything. Now he was embarrassed, and ashamed that he was so embarrassed. What was worse, the look, or his own response to it?

“This is a new year, Frank. Let it be one where you do what you wish. Not what the admiralty wants you to, or a crew of men. You don’t even owe anything to Anne or I…” He brushed the back of Francis’ hand with his knuckles. “You have time now.”

“Yes. We do,” Francis managed. 

James went back over to the bed and picked up his discarded vest, throwing it over his arm. He lingered there, then reached for his boots. 

“Stay,” Francis said. 

James turned and slumped down on the bed, finally losing the composure he’d managed to hold all night. 

He was too good at being a captain, even now. Unreadable under strain - sometimes Francis hated that quality. 

James blew out the light. They climbed under the covers in the center of the bed, shoulder to shoulder.

“Do you remember when we were on our way back to England, I told you I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming?” Francis whispered.

“You think you’re dreaming now?”

“I don’t know anymore…”

“Is this so unbelievable?”

It was and it was not. The improbable parts were what made Francis suspect that this was real.

James lay his head on Francis’ shoulder. Thoughtlessly, and very much in sleeps’ grasp, Francis reached to comb his hand through James' hair.

“No, James.” Francis would figure it out tomorrow.

Francis shut his eyes. James was warm against him, but only just warm enough to let Francis know he was there.

Francis woke to the rising sun shining through the windows. When he opened his eyes, James was sitting up on the side of the bed, his back to Francis.

He reached out his hand and pressed it to James’ back. James was warm, and very much there, not what Francis had initially expected.

“Well, good morning.” He turned his head to Francis.

“Morning, James dear,” Francis replied. “You stayed.”

“Promised I would.”

James had never let him down, never would. If only he could get it through his thick skull.

Francis traced his fingers down his back. He wanted to grab at the fabric of his shirt and pull him closer.

“I should check on Anne, she’ll likely be awake now,” James said. “But I will be back.”

“Alright.”

James slipped out of the room.

Francis could hear their voices carrying through the hall.

“I hope you had a good night,” Anne said.

James’ voice was barely a whisper, Francis could not make out what he was saying.

“Ah, some sense finally.” Her voice drew closer. “Good morning, Frank,” Anne said, appearing in the doorway. 

“Morning,” Francis replied. 

James kissed her on the cheek. “We’ll be down for breakfast shortly.”

“No, take your time, by all means.” 

“How is this going to work? Are we to have a schedule?” Francis asked, still surprised by her acceptance of all this.

Anne laughed.

“You know what, Frank, that’s actually a really good idea.” James turned to Anne.

“Oh, my dear.” She shook her head. “Well unlike you two, I actually like to eat in the morning. I’ll see you later.” She turned and disappeared from the doorway.

James returned to the bed and sank back down next to Francis with a sigh.

Francis was all out of words now, waiting. Again, waiting. Perhaps he wasn’t sure what he wanted, himself.

James had asked him what he wanted, Francis didn’t have an answer. He did not need to know, not yet. He looked back up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the familiar lines of the mouldings.

Francis still was not sure what he could do or feel. What was allowed? Where had the line between them fallen now?

Francis looked over at James again, his eyes had fallen shut again. Asleep, at peace, even if he was uncertain. Did he truly have so much faith in Francis? 

Someone would have to say something, sort this mess out, and if the many years they shared were any indicator, it would not be James.

Francis slipped from the bed carefully, making sure not to wake him. He stood from the bed and walked up to the vanity.

He looked at himself in the mirror again, at the white and sparse red of the beard hiding his face. Still there from last night, still as out of place. He didn’t want to hide anymore.

He opened one of the drawers and found his razor, laying as it had been a month ago, next to Francis’ broken old sledge compass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES FOR CHAPTER 6:  
> \- well-rigged -> an actual expression meaning well dressed, i can't find a true source on but lexico.com defines it as such and a site with no source puts it as a Victorian compliment- [ link here](https://www.lexico.com/definition/well-rigged) \- we decided we did not care if it was accurate. I like the nautical with a dash of “oh god this could be an innuendo” Brought to you by my deep dive into Victorian compliments at 5am.  
> \- [Francis’ waistcoat ref ](https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O128009/waistcoat-unknown)  
> \- The moon phase for new years 1849: [ moonpage.com ](https://www.moonpage.com/index.html?go=T&auto_dst=T&m=1&d=1&y=1849&hour=1&min=43&sec=30)  
> \- the angry swans! a reference to the fact that swans were mentioned as part of JCR’s estate. Also we love our swan references in The Terror, interpret that how you like  
> \- Local writer just really likes dance scenes. fight me.  
> \- Who am I if I don’t remind people that between 1829 and 1835 JCR and Crozier did not see each other for SIX YEARS. John Ross’ ‘29 expedition was not seen for 4 years and people assumed they were dead! Crozier was stuck on a boat [HMS Stag] patrolling the Portuguese coast at the time!!  
> \- If you’ve gotten this far and are reading the history notes, a) I congratulate you b) if you do want a source to this or anything else I did not link, I could probably find it


	7. VII

**The same morning, New Years Day, 1849**

Francis wandered downstairs, running his hands over his clean-shaven face, aware of the few spots where he’d managed to nick his chin.

As he walked past the morning room, he found Anne sitting at the table. 

She turned around and smiled. “Ah Frank, good morning again.”

“Good morning,” Francis replied.

“Where’s James?” she asked, casting a glance behind Francis.

“Fell asleep again, thought I’d let him.”

“Ah. Not tired yourself?”

“Ah- Well… no, not particularly.” He wasn’t sure what to say. What exactly did she want to know?

“Well then, can I interest you in a cup of tea?” Anne said. 

“Is tea the be-all, end-all remedy for everything in this house?” Francis asked.

“Yes, Francis,” Anne said, then laughed. 

At the table, a setting of a teapot and three cups already waited.

“I wasn’t sure when you were going to come down, but I made sure to ask for Assam you like so much.” She began pouring the tea into the cup in front of Francis.

“Thank you.” Francis sat down, hesitantly.

“It’s nothing.” She smiled and set the pot back down. 

They sat in silence. Anne was the very picture of a society lady sipping her tea, holding the cup elegantly in her hand. Every time she lifted it to her mouth, it was hard to miss the ring on her finger.

“I’m glad to see James happy again,” she said, finally. 

“As am I.” Francis’ hand shook as he tried to set it down, crashing into the saucer.

Anne didn’t seem to take notice. Surely, she had, but the silence was deliberate. This wasn’t right for either of them. 

Francis tapped his finger on the arm of his chair. Waiting, counting. The air felt thick between them. Sooner or later, one of them would have to address it. He could not keep waiting and guessing. Not with both her and James, not when none of this would be happening if he’d stayed behind in London. He had too much guilt already; anymore, and it would consume him. Francis needed to make things clear.

“I don’t understand you,” Francis said, looking over at Anne. It came out wrong. “I mean, I don’t understand this…”

Anne looked over at him and raised her brows.

“I don’t understand how you could ever be ok with any of this,” Francis clarified.

“What do you mean?” She smiled softly.

“You know,” Francis began. Of course, she knew exactly what Francis was talking about, she just wanted him to say it out loud. “Sharing _him._ ”

“Ah. You mean, am I afraid you’re going to steal my husband?”

“Well, yes.”

“Perhaps I’m not someone who expects whatever I’m holding in my hands to disappear or be taken away. I know he loves me, I have never had a need to doubt it. You know how James does that.”

Francis looked down at his tea.

“Or, perhaps, it’s because I could never see it as stealing.” She reached for her cup again. A casual gesture, like this conversation was just another part of her morning routine.

“Forgive me, I don’t...”

“I’m not blind, Francis.” Her tone plain. No more metaphor, no more sugar coating. “In fact, perhaps I see things more clearly than either of you ever have. I knew that I was not just marrying him. He was never, _could never_ , be entirely mine to begin with.”

“Oh.” It was what James had told him, in so many words.

“Interesting how it all worked out for us in the end.” Anne reached for her teacup and took a sip. 

“Indeed. I think you’ll have to forgive my… aloofness around you.”

“I understand perfectly. Nothing to worry about.”

Francis wasn’t sure he understood her ease, but there was time for that. 

“I was planning to go for an early morning stroll, would you-” She paused, staring him over. “Would you care to join me?” 

“Of course.”

Anne finished her tea and set it down on the small table. “I need to get dressed. I’ll meet you outside again shortly.”

She left the room and Francis could hear her footsteps on the stairs. 

Francis finished his own tea and went to go find his own coat and boots. Francis still wore an old coat from before the expedition, and it still fit a bit too loosely. Those years of rationing and drinking had made a difference. 

Anne descended the stairs. “James is still asleep.” She picked up a coat and pulled it on. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Francis replied. 

They stepped outside onto the frozen ground. 

“We have quite the garden here, I suppose you’ll finally get to see it soon,” Anne said. 

Francis looked to the bare trees and the empty flower beds. It did not look very promising, but he took Anne’s word for it. 

“You know, when we first arrived here, James took to walking the grounds every day. Partially to avoid writing… I think writing the account of the voyage really took it out of him,” Anne said. She looked pained to admit. 

“Oh?”

“Yes. I think he hoped to write it with you. Too many late nights, excuses, and strongly worded letters later, but he did it.”

“I’m reading his account. I’ve never been one to read the official things, before. Why would I, when he could tell me the highlights?”

“I’ve felt much the same way.”

“Still, I think I’d like to try to remember it on my own this time,” Francis admitted. “This last voyage was so different, I wanted to remember what it could be like again.” What it was like to sail with James. Perhaps Francis didn’t appreciate it enough at the time, just fearing and waiting for it to be over until it was. If he was wise, he’d try and learn something from that. 

“Oh.” Anne sighed. She looped her arm around Francis’. “Perhaps, then, Frank you _should_ ask James instead. It’s been nearly a decade since you left for that voyage and if you wish to look to the future...”

“Ah, I see what you’re getting at.” Francis did love to dwell on the past. Roll the moments over in his head and think about what he could have done differently. What did it matter now? 

“A lot more is possible now, I do hope you know that,” she said.

“I’m trying to process that.”

“Good.”

They walked over toward the pond and up over the small bridge. Francis looked back over to the house. James would probably be up by now, wondering where either of them had gone. 

“Well, I think I ought to go check on James. Don’t want to leave him alone for too long,” Francis said.

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Francis led the way back into the mansion. He threw off his coat and made his way to the steps. The door to the study remained open.

He leaned in, to find James sitting at the desk, dressed. He knocked on the doorframe. “James?”

“Ah, Frank! Come in,” James replied. He set the paper aside and leaned back in his chair. He wore a bright salmon pink waistcoat with an embroidered peacock feather design. It was a bold choice, even for James. Clearly purchased while Francis was away, otherwise he would have tried to talk James out of it.

Since Francis left the study the night before, James had managed to make a mess of it. A teacup balanced precariously on an uneven stack of books. As he approached, Francis took it down and set it on one of the tables instead. “Your tea’s gone cold.”

“That’s just how I like it,” James replied, still consumed by his letter.

“I know for a fact that isn’t true.”

James huffed.

Francis looked at the desk and the disorganized bookshelf. James’ jacket hung part way off the back of the chair. “Christ, James, how do you manage to do this?”

“Ah, that is precisely why I need you around, old boy, to stop me,” he replied.

Francis shook his head. Some things never change.

“Thought you were still asleep.”

“I was, but then I woke up to find you were gone.” James looked up at Francis, studying his face. “Your beard, Frank, it’s…”

“Gone.”

“Well, yes.”

“Any objections? Didn’t think I needed to ask.”

“No, quite the contrary.” James stood and walked up to him. “It’s good to see your face again.” He reached his hand up, aiming for Francis’ cheek, but diverted it at the last minute. He patted Francis’ shoulder and smiled.

Francis wished he had not hesitated that time. He looked back to the books. This all was a sign of James’ nerves, even if he would not admit it. Keeping busy, getting on like nothing happened. There were things Francis didn’t want to change, of course, but there were others that had to.

“Don’t do that, Frank,” James said.

“Do what?”

“I can practically hear you thinking.” He reached out and took Francis’ hand.

Francis sighed and put his hand on James’ wrist.

“Your hand is cold.”

“Yes, a very keen observation. I was outside.”

“I saw you and Anne.”

“Yes, we were talking about you.”

“Oh?”

“Bonding over how difficult you are.” Francis lifted James’ hand off his shoulder and squeezed it. “I could use a warm cup of tea. Join me?”

James opened his mouth to object and then shook his head. “Very well.”

**That Night**

Francis crept up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom. Light glowed from Anne and James’ room.

That night would be Anne’s night, it was only fair. Still, Francis lingered there for a moment, trying to catch the end of their conversation before he went in to say goodnight.

“Perhaps I’ve always been more lenient with you than he has,” Anne whispered. “He always managed to demand an explanation out of you… how?”

“What am I supposed to do with that?” James replied.

“You’re not a naval captain anymore dear, you don’t have to act like one.”

There was a long sigh from James.

“Neither is Frank, for that matter.”

There was a long silence. 

Francis approached and knocked on the doorframe.

“Come in, Frank,” Anne called.

James sat up in bed as Francis approached.

“I only wanted to say goodnight- is everything alright, James?”

“Yes, perfectly alright,” James replied.

“Depends how much you heard,” Anne added.

James sighed.

This was between James and Anne, not Francis. “Well, I won’t disturb you further,” Francis said.

“Frank, wait,” James said. “Perhaps, stay?” He looked to Francis, and then back to Anne. “Would that be alright?”

“Of course, my dear,” Anne said.

James sank back down into the bed beside Anne, shifting over so he was in the middle. He motioned to the space beside him. 

Francis sat down. He looked at the two of them in bed, making no objections yet.

“Don't worry, you’re alright,” Anne reassured.

Francis climbed in beside James.

“Good night, Frank,” Anne whispered over James.

“Good night, Anne.”

James shifted onto his side, leaning into Francis. He took Francis’ arm and draped it over his torso, holding it there for a moment as if sensing Francis’ doubts. He let go and wrapped his own around Anne. “Good night, Frank.”

“Goodnight, James dear.” Francis let out a breath. If this was where James wanted him, he had no objections. Not unless Anne minded. Perhaps this could work, in the end.

He pressed his face against James’ back, listening to his steady breaths.

Francis shut his eyes and let sleep claim him.

**A Week Later**

A sharp knock disturbed Francis from the journal he was reading. 

“Francis, there’s someone here to see you,” James said, his voice stern. He left only moments after he spoke. 

Francis’ heart raced as he stood from his desk and walked out into the foyer. 

Sophia Cracroft stood there looking back at him, smiling softly. She still wore the same heavy black layers. In fact, she looked the same as he’d last seen her a month earlier. He’d barely thought of her outside his guilt. Francis had thought he’d be more nervous to see her, now the calm he felt was a relief.

“Sophy?” he said.

“Hello, Francis, I hadn’t heard from you, and you never responded to any of my letters. I wanted to see how you were,” she said.

Anne and James looked to Francis.

“Very well,” Francis said. He nodded to James, trying to alert him that it was fine. 

“We’ll be in the library if you need us,” Anne said as she pulled James out of the room. 

“How’s your Aunt?” Francis asked, once they were alone. He walked her towards the sitting room.

“Good. Well, as good as one can be, under the circumstances,” Sophia said. “Don’t think she’ll ever be quite the same again.”

“Of course.”

“That isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. I made a mistake, years ago. I told Auntie that too,” she said.

“I’ve made more than a few over the years myself,” Francis admitted. Proposing to Sophia a second time was perhaps one of them, especially as it had left James to deal with his distress in the aftermath. 

“I’ve missed you greatly over the years. I was hoping we might be able to write at least,” Sophia said.

“Oh, I do apologize for that.”

Loud footsteps echoed in the hall. James was no longer in the library. The door to the garden opened and shut in the other room, slamming perhaps a little too loudly that second time.

“It’s alright, I’m sure you’ve been busy,” Sophia said, ignoring the display. “Either way, after all you’ve been through, I can’t blame you.”

“I thought about writing but after all that had passed between us, I really wasn’t sure what I could say...”

“Right, of course. Well that is why I’m here today. I know it’s been many years and I hope we can put it behind us.”

“It has. I’m afraid I’m hardly the man I was then.”

“And I’m hardly the woman I was before, too. I do want to apologize for that. I was very wrong...”

Francis met her eye. “What exactly do you have to apologize for?” Was she sorry for the rejection or for her delivery of it, he wondered. Still, it did not matter now. “You were right about one thing though, at the time.”

“No, I-”

“I am an explorer. Made of hope, at least I once was. Perhaps it was inevitable, the sea, the past, they’re hard things to let go of for me.” Except Francis understood the past well now. There was no going back. Francis’ life had been split in two, before and after the expedition. At one point there was the time before the Antarctic when he could still call himself young, and the strange years after, James’ marriage being the divide. Now so little mattered, and the few things that did dominated Francis’ mind. 

“But we can be friends, I hope?” Sophia asked.

“Yes, Sophy, I’d like that. I will write this time.”

“Very well. Yes, do write, please,” she said. “I should be going then, Auntie will want me back.”

“Do send her my wishes.”

“Perhaps you should be writing to her yourself too,” Sophia said.

Francis stood as she slipped out. As if right on cue, Anne showed up in the doorway.

“Miss Cracroft, leaving so soon?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Sophia replied. 

“I can lead you out. James is out in the garden, I’m sure he’ll be sorry to see you go.”

He would not, Francis knew. 

“Do give him my apologies, then.” Sophia turned back to Francis. “It was good to see you again.”

“Goodbye, Sophia,” Francis said. 

As Anne led her out, Francis opened the glass doors into the garden and walked out into the spring air. 

There, he found James pacing in circles around the bare bushes. 

“You were listening, weren’t you?” Francis asked. 

“I tried. I won’t deny it,” James replied.

“Well?”

“At one point I would have been surprised.”

“You’re pleased I didn’t ask again?” Francis joked.

James didn’t answer. That was more telling than any words. 

James had been angry when Francis asked Sophia a second time, he never quite fully understood why. He had only known half the story at the time.

“I am pleased.” James walked up to Francis and took his hands.

Perhaps that joke had hit more of a nerve than Francis anticipated. “You do realize I wouldn’t do that again, right? I hope you do. Christ, James!”

James shook his head. Still, his face didn’t betray much. 

“I know,” James replied. Not what Francis expected. “I was going to tell you after we got back from the Antarctic... At least try. Anne encouraged me. But you left for Italy without saying goodbye, and when you got back all you could think of was Sophia Cracroft.”

Francis stared at him.

“You’ve never held back in your letters, Frank. Ready to lay it all out. You proposed to her twice, knowing what the answer would likely be, no matter how much I advised you against it, and still…” He looked pained, struggling to speak the words. “While I- Well, I couldn’t even bring myself to tell you how I felt. I had hoped you’d say something… so many times I thought you would. I had hoped you’d save me from trying to figure out how…”

“James…”

Francis was not alone in his own struggle with the past.

James reached forward and took Francis’ hands. His hands shook. He was just as scared at the possibility of Francis leaving.

“I never said anything because it was you, James. It terrified me to think I’d lose you,” Francis admitted. “You have Anne, other friends, I’ve only truly had you. I’ve loved you for near thirty years, James. I didn’t know how I could love- how could anyone compare? Now I… Honestly, I’m not sure if I should be offended that you did not know sooner.”

James huffed. “You probably should be.”

“Rightly so, but it’s the past now, James.”

“I suppose I see no point in regrets now.” James took a step closer. “I hope that you are happy here, with us now. With me.”

“Yes,” Francis replied. It was a great understatement.

“You know I can’t offer you a marriage, I can’t ask you that,” James said. “But if such a thing were possible, you know I would. I would not hesitate for a moment. I’ll do everything to make sure you are happy here, I promise you that. All I ask is that you believe me.”

“I do.” Francis looked into James’ eyes. “Christ, James-”

James didn’t look away. “I nearly lost you once…”

“I have no intention of going anywhere without you ever again,” Francis said.

“Good. Not even to the other side of the grounds, I hope.” James took a step closer.

Francis chuckled. “Alright, not even to the other side of the grounds.”

James wrapped a hand around the back of Francis’ neck and gently brought their foreheads together.

“We’re no good apart, you and I.”

James broke away. He reached to fiddle with his ring. “Now I know this is purely symbolic…” He slipped off his ring and handed it to Francis.

“James…” He stared as James held it out to him.

“It’s just a ring, Frank.” James took Francis’ left hand, lifting it closer. He cast Francis a sly smile.

“I think we both know it means a lot more than that.” A symbol, perhaps, but it was one that had evaded Francis. Home, acceptance, James… things that weren’t meant to be his. 

James proceeded to slip the ring onto Francis’ little finger.

Francis looked at the ring hung there, ready to fall off if he were to tilt his hand downward. “Doesn’t fit.”

“So, we’ll get it resized,” James said.

“You better hang onto it for now, then.” He tilted his hand and let it fall back into James’ hand.

“Very well.” James took it and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. Thoughtlessly, he brought his hand up to Francis’ cheek. He let out a quiet sigh. He blinked slowly as his gaze fell from Francis’ eyes to his lips and lingered there. 

Francis’ heart raced. Before, when he’d kissed James, at a bad angle and half drunk, he hadn’t thought it mattered. No one he had kissed before mattered as much as James did now. This was James after years of waiting and dreaming. Francis was overthinking this, he always ruined it by overthinking.

James leaned in closer, ever so slowly, making sure there was no misinterpreting this. As if giving Francis every opportunity to stop him. As if Francis would stop him. It was in vain.

Francis closed his eyes. He felt James’ lips on his. 

His lips were dry, but warm. The kiss was quick, hesitant. Tense. 

When Francis opened his eyes, James was surveying him, like he was more of a troubled sea than a man. 

“You should have done that long ago. Properly,” Francis said.

James met his eye. “Yes, I know.” He sighed, but the doubt was gone. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Of course.”

James lunged forward to kiss him again, his weight fully against Francis now. There was no hesitation this time, absolutely no doubt. Instead, just the passion James brought to everything else in his life. 

For a moment, Francis was twenty-seven again, drunkenly wandering back to the ship after one of Parry’s balls, clutching James a little too closely as they both tried to balance on the ice. Young and artless and full of yearning.

Perhaps two of those things still held true. 

“Christ,” Francis said, trying to catch his breath as they parted.

“Too much?”

“No. It has been quite a day, but no.”

There was a knock on the doorway. Anne looked back at them, appearing strangely satisfied. “I hope I’m not intruding. You two may be polar explorers, but I figured perhaps you should come inside.”

“Not at all, darling,” James replied to Anne. “Let’s go inside,” he said, turning back to Francis.

He took Francis by the hand and pulled him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES FOR CHAPTER 7:  
> \- JCR liked his rings, just look at the portraits. So I’m borrowing that detail and making it Significant here  
> \- The salmon pink peacock feather pattern waistcoat is based on a real one: [ gaze upon its full glory ](https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O128009/waistcoat-unknown)


	8. VIII

> Nay, ’tis no way of the sea thus to be meekly suitor
> 
> I shall storm thee away with laughter wrapped in my beard of snow,
> 
> With the wildest of billows for chords I shall harp thee a song for thy bridal,
> 
> A mighty lyric of love that feared not nor would forego!
> 
> With a red-gold wedding ring, mined from the caves of sunset,
> 
> Fast shall I bind thy faith to my faith evermore,
> 
> And the stars will wait on our pleasure, the great north wind will trumpet
> 
> A thunderous marriage march for the nuptials of sea and shore.
> 
> \- The Sea to the Shore, L.M. Montgomery 

**Morning, February 1849**

“Frank! Are you awake?”

Francis opened one eye to look up at James, standing at the side of the bed, excitedly smiling down at him. “I am now,” he said, managing to sound more disappointed than he meant to. 

“I’m sorry to wake you.” James sat down on the bed. “I have some business in London, I was hoping to leave early.”

“That’s today?” Francis asked, yawning. 

“I was hoping you’d join me.”

“Of course.” He found James’ hand on the edge of the bed and squeezed it. 

His hand was cold. That wasn’t right. Without thinking, Francis reached out and wrapped his arm around James, pulling him into the bed. 

James laughed. “Not exactly what I had in mind,” he teased.

“No,” Francis said. “Change of plans.”

“Fair enough.” James shifted to lay comfortably on the bed, and threw an arm over Francis. 

Francis sighed and closed his eyes. Outside, rain softly pattered the windows. Rain, not snow. 

They had time. 

Francis yawned as he made his way down the stairs, fully dressed. James stood at the door, with Anne. 

“Ready?” James asked. He held up Francis’ coat for him to put on. 

Francis shrugged. He turned and let James help him into his coat. 

“I suppose we should be off then,” James said and smiled. 

“Well, have a good day, my captains,” Anne said, and quickly kissed James.

She turned to Francis and kissed him on the cheek. “Take care of James.” 

He stared back at her, but she only smiled. “Yes… of course,” he replied. 

“Shall we?” James said, opening the door. The coach waited for them outside. 

Riding into London, Francis found there wasn’t anything about it he missed now. 

They exited in Greenwich, not too far from the roads Francis was so familiar with years ago. 

“I have a small errand to run, it shouldn’t take any more than an hour,” James said, walking up behind him. “I’ll meet you back here?” he asked.

Francis nodded.

James walked away, briskly down the street. 

Francis turned to study the landscape. There was no point in figuring out what had changed and what stayed the same, Francis had a new home now. 

Still, he wandered into Greenwich park. Perhaps it was one of the few places where not much has changed. The same hills and old trees. The ancient feeling of the place, with the fog hanging low and the bare branches, not quite ready for spring. 

He followed the path, avoiding any steep descents. He’d spent so much time here, aimlessly wandering, when he’d stayed with James before the expedition. Part of him missed it, the other didn’t mind now that he wasn’t trying to run away from James. 

Francis stopped and leaned against one of the massive maple trees. Up ahead, a shorter man, paced anxiously, talking to himself as if he were rehearsing a speech. On a closer look, Francis recognized him. 

“Dr. Goodsir?” he asked, walking towards him. 

Goodsir turned around, alarmed to see Francis. “Oh, Captain! I uh… funny thing running into you here.”

“You as well, how have you been?”

“Well, sir. I’m still no doctor, Henry is fine,” he said. 

“You’ll always be one in my mind, I’m afraid,” Francis said.

“I think it’s actually quite fortunate I’ve run into you here. There’s a matter that hasn't given me any peace since I returned.”

“Oh? Anything, I’ll be glad to help.”

“Why I came here was, well, this.” Goodsir reached into his pocket and unwrapped something. There lay a small gold ring. “It belonged to a man on the expedition. I promised I’d give it to his sister. I’m afraid I can’t remember his name now… how could I forget. If it’s one thing I had to do… foolish of me not to write it down. He was young. One of the youngest. One of the first to die, even before we were frozen in. He told us to run, I didn’t understand what he meant then…”

Francis remembered him. The young man who’d come to him in his dreams, had said his name… “David Young.” 

Goodsir stared at him for a long moment, falling open. “Yes, yes that’s it. David Young. How did you remember?”

“Hard to forget.” Especially after the dreams.

“Ah, well thank you, Captain. Now I just hope I’ll be able to trace his family.”

“It’s no trouble. Do write to me if you need anything.”

“Alright.”

“Anything else I can help you with?”

“I don’t think so. Thank you, again. I should be off.”

“Travel well, Doctor,” Francis replied. He was at a loss for any better words. 

Goodsir nodded and turned to leave. There was a noticeable lightness to his step now.

That was good. Francis smiled to himself. 

He walked back down the path and sat on a bench, staring at the observatory in the distance. 

Francis pulled out his pocket watch. When he looked up, James was walking over, right on time.

“Was whatever business you had satisfactory?” Francis asked.

“Yes. I’ll tell you about it at home,” James replied. His hand fell over his pocket, lingering there as if he was making sure he didn’t lose something. 

Francis stood “Well, where to next?”

James smiled. “I was hoping we might be able to pay a visit to my tailor.”

“Oh Christ. I should have known better.” Francis sighed at the betrayal. 

James smiled, and Francis decided to forgive him. 

“Come on, Frank, we can pick you whatever fabric you like first.” 

Francis glanced back at the park. He sighed. “Alright, James. But perhaps a stroll through the park first, like the old days?”

It was evening when they arrived back in Aston Abbotts. Light only burned in a few of the windows. 

“Will you tell me now what this pressing errand you had was? Unless it was all to trick me into buying new clothes,” Francis asked as he shut the door. 

James laughed. He threw his coat thoughtlessly over a chair. “Well perhaps that was my plan all along. There was, however, this one thing.” He reached into the pocket and pulled something out. Francis couldn’t make it out in the dim light. 

He stepped closer to Francis and took his hand. He held up his ring and slipped it on Francis’ finger, where it stayed. 

“Ah, I see,” Francis said. 

“It fits.” James looked down at Francis’ hand, smiling. He intertwined their fingers and took another step towards Francis. “I had hoped to make a bigger scene of it.”

“I think it’s been long enough.” Francis tilted his head down to meet James’ gaze. 

“See, that was my reasoning too.” James leaned forward and kissed him. “Still,” he whispered between kisses, “I think you’re due something more dramatic.”

Francis turned his head and huffed, James’ lips landed on his jaw. “Dramatic hasn’t exactly worked out well for me, has it?” He looked back at James. 

“Frank.” He shut his eyes and sighed. He shook his head, irritated. 

“I only mean it’s for the best, James dear. I’m tired, don’t think too much of it,” Francis said. 

“Well, it’s been a long day, I suppose I’ll take your word for it, for now,” James said, eying him suspiciously. 

“Good.”

In response, James gave him another quick kiss. More aggressively this time, almost stumbling forward if Francis hadn’t caught his arm. 

“I think we’re both beyond tired,” Francis said. 

James nodded. He stepped back and motioned up the stairs. “After you.”

Francis began his way up the stairs, occasionally glancing down at his hand. The warm orange carnelian of James’ ring seemed to glow in the dim light. 

**That Night**

Francis stood on the dark frozen plane of the Arctic. Except this wasn’t the Arctic. It had been a while since Francis had one of these dreams, but he hadn’t forgotten the starless sky and endless cold.

He turned around, finding he was not alone. A group of his former men stood, a shorter man, nearly a boy, at the center.

Someone was missing among them, that was not a good sign.

“Where’s Sir John?” Francis asked.

“He’s moved on, as we too will. As you must as well.” David Young stepped forward.

“Moved on – where?”

“He is at peace, as we too shall be.” This time the voice didn’t seem to come from any particular man.

Francis would not get a straight answer. He looked down, a flash of gold caught his attention and he followed the ring on the boy’s hand as he adjusted the strap of the bag over his shoulder. That was the ring Goodsir asked him about, it must be. The one that was to bring peace to Young’s family – as perhaps Francis had tried with Lady jane.

“We must go, captain,” they said.

“Where?” Francis couldn’t stop asking questions. There was no answer, although perhaps he knew.

The men turned and began to walk out across the frozen plane. Francis watched as one by one they began to fade into the dark. He turned, looking around for any other signs of life. No, he was alone in this dead, empty nothing.

A light began to burn the sky, turning the thick greys into streaks of pink and gold. Francis focused on the horizon where the men had just been. The sun was rising here, moving faster than Francis has ever seen, painting the bleak canvas of this land in bright white and gold. He shut his eyes before it blinded him.

Francis opened his eyes again. He was back in his bed.

He turned to his side, and there James lay sleeping. Francis sighed and wrapped an arm around him. 

“You’re awake,” James whispered. 

“For now,” Francis said, burying his face in James’ shoulder.

“Sun will be up soon. We can probably call this morning.”

“No,” Francis replied. “I’m quite determined to stay here.”

“Very well.” James settles closer to him.

Francis reached up and brushed James’ hair out of his face, where it was beginning to tickle his nose. He didn’t mind it that much, really. This was good, this was how Francis wanted to spend his mornings now. No need to rush to get somewhere. Just James. He looked to the ring on his finger, the weight of it still fresh.

James sighed. “How’s the ring?” He asked as if sensing Francis’ gaze on it, like it was still part of him.

“It’s certainly not going anywhere.”

“Good,” James replied. “I hope you saw the inscription.”

“Inscription?” Francis sat up and took a closer look at the ring.

James pulled away and rolled onto his back. “It’s new, I felt it would be appropriate.”

Francis slipped off the bed and took a closer look. He could see some sort of lettering, but even with the faint glow of the dawn lighting the room, he could not make it out.

He stood from the bed and walked up to the window, pulling back the curtain to get a better look. The text read: _ad meliora ex umbra._

“To better things, out of shadows.” James said.

Francis chuckled. “This is more apt than you probably realize, James dear.” He’d have to think more on that later, when he was more awake.

He stared back at James who shrugged and smiled lightly. Francis let go of the curtain, returning the room to dark, James only a silhouette on the bed.

Francis put the ring back in its rightful place on his finger and returned to his spot on the bed. He wrapped his arms around James and pulled him back down to the pillows.

“Sleep, James. It’s far too early.”

**Afternoon, April 1849**

Francis opened the door to see Fitzjames standing on his doorstep. 

“James! Good afternoon,” Francis greeted. “I hadn’t expected to see you today...”

“I had business in London, just wanted to stop by and see how you were getting on,” Fitzjames said.

“Marvellously, thank you,” Francis said.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Can I offer you a cup of tea?” Francis said.

“Yes, please, thank you!” 

“Why don’t you go ahead and make yourself at home in the drawing room.” Francis walked over to the study and knocked on the door. “James!” Francis turned back to Fitzjames. “Not you,” he whispered. “James, we have surprise company. Come and join us.”

“Be right there,” James replied. 

“He’s wrapped up in the magnetic observations it seems, might be a while,” Francis said. He turned back and led Fitzjames to the sitting room. “Anne is out enjoying this fine weather we are having, I don’t wish to ask her to come back indoors.”

“Perfectly alright, I wouldn’t dream of disturbing them. Besides I was hoping to see you mostly.”

“Ah. Well that’s very kind of you.” Francis wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t used to this. Especially someone choosing his company over that of _Sir James Clark Ross_. “How are you faring in Brighton?” Francis asked, moving on. 

“Well, actually.” James settled down on the settee, crossing his legs. “Not for long though, Dundy and I are headed for Italy at the end of the month.”

“Oh, you are? That’s good. I spent some time in Italy before the expedition, as you probably heard.”

“I did, how was it?”

“I’m afraid I was too far gone in my own head at the time, never got to appreciate the sights,” Francis admitted.

“I understand. One needs to be in the right mindset for travel, on the lookout for new tales to tell,” Fitzjames teased. 

Francis laughed. “Indeed, James.”

Fitzjames smiled back at him with that wide grin of his. Now that they were closer, it was awfully contagious. How they hated each other years back, it was silly to think of it now. 

“So have you made any further plans besides this vacation?” Francis asked. He was genuinely curious, if not perhaps worried that Fitzjames might return to the Arctic. 

“Yes! I’ve been offered a post in instruction actually, at the Naval college.”

“Oh!” Francis breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad.”

“Thank you, Francis. And you?”

“Still retired. Determined to sit still in this house and be an old man,” Francis replied. 

“Don’t give me that Francis. Don’t sell yourself short. I do hope you are happy here.”

“I only jest.” Francis waved him off with a hand. He still hadn’t adjusted to the weight of James’ ring on his finger. There was that extra pull of it on his hand with every motion, and he hoped he’d never quite get used to it. “But I am happy, James. Truly. Feels like the first time in nearly forever.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I can tell, I believe. You’re like a different man now, I’ve never seen you quite like this. I suppose Sir James and Lady Anne have a certain positive influence on you.

Francis smiled. “They do.”

“Then you are finally home, it seems.”

“I suppose so, yes.” It was more of a home than Francis had ever had, more than any ship.

Fitzjames grinned. “Ah, just like Lord Nelson at the Hamilton’s.”

“Sorry?” He looked to Fitzjames, trying to understand what he meant.

“Ah, never mind.” Fitzjames waved his hand. “I do recall you promised me a cup of tea…”

“Christ, I forgot.” Francis stood in alarm. 

“Oh it’s perfectly alright,” Fitzjames replied.

“Do you have further business in London tonight?” Francis blurted out.

“Nothing pressing.” Fitzjames looked at him, puzzled. 

“Would you care to stay for dinner? If it’s an issue we can arrange for you to get home after, or you could even stay the night, James wouldn’t mind…” Francis cut himself off because he could see Fitzjames’ face light up with a grin.

“I would be delighted, Francis.”

“Good.” Francis couldn’t help but smile.

“Ah, Captain Fitzjames, my good man, pleasure to see you again,” James said, finally appearing from the study. He raced over to shake his hand. 

“Good to see you again, Sir James,” Fitzjames replied.

“ _Captain Fitzjames_ is staying for dinner,” Francis added.

“Good to hear! Little James will be thrilled to see you.”

James walked out into the foyer and called to his son, “James, Uncle Fitz is here and will be staying for dinner!” 

Excited footsteps carried from the floor above. “Uncle Fitz!” little James called back from the top of the stairs. “I found something I want to show you!”

James looked back at them and shrugged.

The little boy raced down the stairs and stopped just short of Fitzjames. He opened his palms and revealed Francis’ arctic sledge compass, holding it up like some prized conquest.

Francis froze.

“Where’d you get that?” Fitzjames asked. He looked up at Francis with his eyes wide.

The little boy shrugged. “Uncle Frank’s room. What is it? Looks like a broken old pocket watch. Really old… Older than Uncle Frank even, maybe!”

Francis stared at the little boy turning his compass over and over in his hands.

 _Where no man has ever been troubled by the sea._ It was as Franklin said it would be. 

“Ah, my boy, you have found an old relic of a bygone era.” James knelt to the height of the little boy to take a closer look. “Well there’s quite a story there, isn’t there? Perhaps Uncle Frank would like to explain.”

Francis was struck silent.

James looked up at him, confused. “This is an arctic sledge compass. I had them ordered when I was in the Antarctic.”

“The Antarctic!” little James echoed.

“Yes. Frank was there too. We never really got to use them properly, because-”

“Were you there, Uncle Fitz?” the little boy interrupted.

“No, I was not, unfortunately,” Fitzjames said. “I almost was though, you see. It’s quite a tale-”

“Not another sailing story!” The little boy’s expression fell. He looked away from Fitzjames and back at his father. “Can I show mummy?” he asked, moving on. 

James laughed. “Of course, we’ll be there shortly.”

The little boy left, racing excitedly out into the garden and through the grass to Anne.

“I’ll make sure he keeps out of trouble,” Fitzjames said, following.

Neptune emerged from the kitchen and chased after them, his claws clicking on the wood floors as he tried to catch the two younger James.

“Are you alright, Frank?” James said. He stepped closer and put his hand on Francis' back.

“Yes, very much so, James dear.” Francis smiled back at him.

“Well, come on then, join us.”

James clasped his arm and then slipped by to join the others.

Francis watched as James joined Anne beside the roses. Fitzjames and the children ran across the fields of green and in and out of the bushes.

James looked back and waved a hand for Francis to join.

His love and his friends eagerly awaited him. He had never thought he would have such a thing.

 _Peace_ , Francis thought _._

_**THE END** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "ad meliora ex umbra” = “to better things out of shadow (or night)“ massive thanks to tulliaciceronis for that one  
> \- 3 James in one scene!! AHHHH  
> \- This is a “Hickey never gets David Young’s ring because Goodsir never loses it” Universe. Perhaps that’s the event that triggers the butterfly effect that leads us here now…  
> \- “Like Lord Nelson at the Hamilton’s” is a reference to well, Lord Nelson and his very famous affair with Lady Emma Hamilton. Lady Emma Hamilton was the wife of Sir William Hamilton, and the three of them actually lived and travelled together at times. (There’s also some very affectionate letters between the three, including calling themselves “tria juncta in uno.” [The letters can be read here](https://archive.org/stream/thelettersoflord15437gut/15437.tx)) Point is Fitzjames could be interpreting and reading into a lot of things here… (I may have added it as a joke but then I liked it too much)

**Author's Note:**

> My little line break flourish images are taken from a book, I found them in [this blog post](http://shemovesthefurniture.blogspot.com/2010/05/penmanship-drawings.html) and spend way too much time editing. The citation for the book: The Business Guide; or Safe Methods of Business by J.L. Nichols, A.M., published by J.L. Nichols & Co. Naperville, ILL., 1896
> 
> ODYSSEY REFERENCES: 
> 
> The whole compass thing was an odyssey reference. In case you do not know and clicked anyway, a brief TL;DR: The Odyssey, in brief, is about Odysseus’ long and eventful journey home to Ithaca after the Trojan war. Meanwhile, the sea god Poseidon is determined to Not Let This Happen. You can read more about the general plot yourself, but there is a particular part referenced that’s important to my plot.  
> In Book 11 of The Odyssey, Odysseus speaks to several ghosts including that of the prophet Tiresias. Tiresias tells him about the difficulties he will face before his eventual return home to his wife and son. One of the things he says is that at the end of it all, Odysseus should take an oar and go to the people who do not know of the sea, who don’t know anything about ships and don’t even salt their food. Then, he will meet a traveler who will mistake the oar for (now translations vary here, some say a shovel, Emily Wilson’s which I’m currently referencing calls it a fan) - point is for something that’s not an oar. And only then, will his journey be truly done, and he will one day die peacefully at an old age, away from the sea. 
> 
> Here’s the passage:  
> 'Odysseus, you think of going home  
> as honey-sweet, but gods will make it bitter.  
> I think Poseidon will not cease to feel  
> incensed because you blinded his dear son.  
> You have to suffer, but you can get home,  
> if you control your urges and your men.  
> Turn from the purple depths and sail your ship  
> towards the island of Thrinacia; there  
> you will find grazing cows and fine fat sheep,  
> belonging to the god who sees and hears  
> all things-the Sun God. If you leave them be,  
> keeping your mind fixed on your journey home,  
> you may still get to Ithaca, despite  
> great losses. But if you hurt those cows, I see  
> disaster for your ship and for your men.  
> If you yourself escape, you will come home  
> late and exhausted, in a stranger's boat,  
> having destroyed your men. And you will find  
> invaders eating your supplies at home,  
> courting your wife with gifts. Then you will match  
> the suitors' violence and kill them all,  
> inside your halls, through tricks or in the open,  
> with sharp bronze weapons. When those men are dead,  
> you have to go away and take an oar  
> to people with no knowledge of the sea,  
> who do not salt their food. They never saw  
> a ship's red prow, nor oars, the wings of boats.  
> I prophesy the signs of things to come.  
> When you meet somebody, a traveler,  
> who calls the thing you carry on your back  
> a winnowing fan, then fix that oar in earth  
> and make fine sacrifices to Poseidon-  
> bull and stud-boar. Then you will go home  
> and offer holy hecatombs to all  
> the deathless gods who live in heaven, each  
> in order. Gentle death will come to you,  
> far from the sea, of comfortable old age,  
> your people flourishing. So it will be.'  
> \- Homer, The Odyssey, Book 11: The Dead, lines 100-137 (translation: Emily Wilson)


End file.
